Chuck vs the Double Agent
by mxpw
Summary: Sarah's rejoined Fulcrum with the Intersect as a sign of loyalty. Will Sarah sucumb to past bad behavior? Will Chuck's plan go off without a hitch? Will Casey finally get some gunplay? Will Carina bury the hatchet with Sarah or in her? Read and find out!
1. Introductions

**Author's Note:** It's the start of a new story! This is a wondrous time, full of excitement and adventure. Or whatever. This story is straight up **AU** and when I say AU I mean it's _reeeeeally_ AU. **Please, for all that is holy, remember that this is AU!** So if situations or characters seem different, that's why. Now I know there are a lot of people out there that don't like alternate universe stories, and that's cool, I'm not always a fan of them either, so I'm not really expecting much of a response. That said, if anyone out there fancies themself a beta, please let me know, I've got the next four chapters of this thing already written and they could use a look-see.

Things may seem a little confusing at first, but stuff will gradually be explained as the story unfolds. This story represents quite a departure for me, as I've never really written a piece that depends so heavily on romance. Frankly, I think it sucks, but I've wanted to write this idea for a long time, so I'm doing it anyway even if there are a lot better Charah writers than me out there. I'm really just writing this to make the thoughts in my head stop and to get over a massive case of writer's block for my other big _Chuck_ fic, _Chuck vs. Project Omaha_.

Hope you find it at least partially interesting.

* * *

She was naked.

Her skin felt like she'd been dumped in an ant hill.

She had no idea when she had last slept.

Every joint felt dislocated and every muscle overworked.

Her ribs still throbbed with ebbing pain.

Her eyes were starched dry and burned from too much exposure.

And she was hungry.

The door in front of her rang open with a protest. Her ears, so used to only hearing her own irregular, labored breathing, rang as if beaten by a gong at the sudden whine. Her eyes closed automatically at the unexpected brightness in her hole, and pain cascaded down her face to settle in her jaw. She forced her eyes open; it was simply too painful to keep them closed, like sandpaper being ran across a sunburn.

She peered closely at the man that stepped into her hole. She had never seen him before.

Tall.

Lanky.

Curly, unkempt brown hair that danced across his head like the animals in a circus.

Kind eyes.

That was what struck her first, once her eyes adjusted to the light. That's what she noticed before anything else. He had kind eyes. They were large and seemed to have no end. The most beautiful shade of brown she'd ever seen, which immediately struck her as an odd and inappropriate thought. They were the eyes of a man that was unguarded and innocent. Not the kind of man she had ever expected to visit her in her hole.

The man dragged a metal chair into the room and placed it across from her. He settled onto the utilitarian seat and crossed his legs. He studied her wordlessly, and she looked away. She hated his scrutiny, hated how vulnerable she must look, hated how his eyes seemingly caressed her skin with their soft understanding and unwanted pity. Hated most of all that she was naked and like every man before him, he simply saw her as nothing more than her outward appearance.

Who was this man that thought he could stare at her?

Who did he think he was?

Why wouldn't he stop?

Then he did something not altogether unexpected: he began unbuttoning his simple white shirt.

Fear settled in her abdomen. So it had finally come to this. She had wondered how long it would be before somebody came to visit her once they stripped her of her clothes. She was surprised by this man though, he didn't seem the type. It only emphasized what she had learned long ago: appearances were always deceiving.

He was wearing a stark white wife beater under his shirt. It glowed like the beacon of a lighthouse in the dark. She was amazed at the body he hid under his ill-fitting and simple clothes. He was lean but not slight, with highly defined shoulders and arms, and a chest that hinted at surprising strength.

He stood above her, looking down. It was too dark to see his face clearly, but she knew that those damn eyes of his were still glued to her. A large hand brushed against her uninjured cheek and she sucked in a shaky breath at the unexpected tenderness encompassed in the gesture. She almost cried.

She had to choke back a stuttered sob, her eyes shutting despite the pain. It was the first bit of human kindness she had felt since she took up residence in her hole. More than the beatings, the questioning, the sleep deprivation, the drugs, it was the simple brush of his fingers that almost undid her and made her confess all her sins.

He brushed a lock of flat blonde hair behind her ear.

He leaned down and murmured quietly into her ear: I'm sorry.

Then he wrapped his shirt around her shoulders and carefully buttoned it up. He could not button it completely because her hands were still tied behind her, but he did the best he could to cover her chest.

She had never thought in her life that the feel of a slightly warm cotton shirt against her rough skin would be one of the most pleasurable experiences of her life. The man stepped away, smiled at her softly, and then sat back down.

She didn't know what to say. That was the last thing she had ever expected the man to do. Maybe she had not misjudged him after all. But if not, then what was he doing here?

"My apologies," he said and semi-bowed his head. "I should have introduced myself before doing that." He actually looked chagrined, with a flush obvious even in the dim room coloring his cheeks. "My name is Carmichael," he said.

She nodded her head, but didn't say a word. The name immediately leapt out to her as familiar, but she could not place where she had heard it before. Her thoughts were too jumbled to organize them coherently. It took too much concentration just to stay silent. She had not really spoken to anyone who had come to visit her, save the rare smartass remark. She refused to. They would not get any information from her.

"This is where you are supposed to offer your name in return," he said. His eyes twinkled with amusement and he was still smiling.

It unnerved her.

It was wrong.

She wished that he had been smiling at her like that her whole life.

She wished that he would just stop.

"Let me guess, you must be the good cop," she said. Her eyes widened and she shut her mouth with a fierce suddenness like the snap of a mousetrap. Her voice was hoarse, husky, not like herself. She couldn't believe she'd actually said anything. For days she had maintained her silence, but all it took was a brush of her cheek and a shirt and a simple smile and she had apparently lost all her willpower.

Carmichael laughed softly. "Something like that."

"What took them so long?"

The man looked confused, and he frowned slightly.

She didn't like his frown. She much preferred him when he was smiling. He was uncomfortably handsome while smiling.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Usually you start out with the good cop," she said.

"Oh?"

"The bad cop only comes out when the subject has proved uncooperative," she added.

It was like a plug being pulled, the words just tumbled out of her mouth now. She couldn't stop. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to stop. She had been silent for so long that she had forgotten what it was like just to engage in conversation with somebody.

"And have you been uncooperative?" he asked.

She didn't think that even deserved a response. She didn't like it when people acted coy or cute. She didn't like smarm.

Carmichael nodded his head. "Like I said earlier, I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner. How you've been treated so far is deplorable."

"Who are you?" she asked plaintively.

"I told you, my name is Carmichael."

"No, I mean, are you CIA? NSA? FBI?"

He just smiled. She relaxed slightly; she couldn't help it, it was an involuntary reaction. "None of the above," he said.

"I don't understand."

He leaned forward slightly and she found herself leaning forward as well. Her arms strained at the pressure she was putting on them, but she didn't care. "I'm what you might call a…independent contractor."

"What does that even mean?"

"It means that I work for the government, but I do so largely on my own terms."

She frowned. "You enjoy interrogating random naked women for fun?"

"I'm not here to interrogate you. That's so not my thing," he protested with what looked to her like a very distasteful look on his face.

"Then why are you here?"

Again he shrugged. He gave her the most endearing, lopsided smile she'd ever seen. "Share, don't share, I'm not just here to get information from you." His smile gradually faded from his face to be replaced by a look of intense sincerity. "I guess you could say that I'm here to be your friend."

She laughed, or at least tried to. Her throat was so dry it was more like a series of coughs. She wheezed for a bit, the laughing having jarred her ribs painfully. When she was back in control of her body again, she said as disdainfully as she could, "I have no friends."

"I could be your friend if you let me."

She actually believed he meant what he said. Who was this guy?

Did he not realize what she was doing here?

Did he not understand that she was not a guest in her hole by choice?

Did he not know that she was not a nice person?

None of this made any sense. She couldn't see the angle. She couldn't figure out what game they were trying to play. They couldn't actually think that this guy's 'aw shucks' persona would actually work on her. He was a great actor, she would give him that, but she was the best. She was better. She would not let him break her with his smiling and beautiful eyes and kindness.

"I don't need any friends. Especially not people like you," she said.

"Everybody needs friends," Carmichael said.

"I don't. I never have," she said.

Carmichael nodded like he understood. "You'll change your tune." He grinned crookedly, "Nobody can resist my charming personality for long."

"I like my chances," she said as defiantly as she could, but even she could admit that his sincerity was already starting to weaken her defenses.

He looked at her so intently she was afraid he could actually see inside her head. She was terrified that he might see how difficult it was for her to hold on, how close she was to telling this strange man everything she knew.

"Everybody talks eventually," he said with sudden seriousness. Then he shrugged with complete nonchalance, like her eventual breaking was nothing more than an insignificant speck of lint on his shirt. He stood up and grabbed his chair. The door opened and he stepped into the doorway. He turned back to smile at her one last time and she already found herself missing him. She didn't want to go back to the oppressing loneliness.

"I'll see you around, Ms. Walker."

And then he was gone.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _Familiar Faces_ - We delve into Mr. Carmichael's view and get a little better understanding of just what is going on and why. Things may not be as you expect.


	2. Familiar Faces

**Author's Note:** Wow, guys, I'm shocked by the response the first chapter got. Really, I am. I thank everyone who reviewed, even if you were confused about what was going on. Hopefully, this chapter will help explain things a little bit.

I wanted to post this chapter now because I wanted to help people get a better grasp of the story, but I don't think I'll be able to update at this kind of pace for much longer. I've got chapters in the pipe, but I want to make sure I've got at least a two chapter buffer before I update. But I will try.

* * *

Chuck walked distractedly into the surveillance control room, his thoughts on the room and the woman that he had just left.

He didn't know what to think. A small part of him felt a great amount of pity for Sarah Walker. Nobody should be treated that way. He didn't care what they had done or who they were. He didn't care how important the information they might have was. He knew it was wrong, unabashedly so.

There was another part, a bigger part, of his mind that objected to his better nature. It was that part of his mind that gave him the motivation to do what he did. He had never liked this part of his work for the government, but being the Intersect meant he sometimes had to make sacrifices. Sometimes he had to compromise his integrity and lie to anyone and everyone. He had been doing it for years; he had thought he'd be used to it by now.

He vaguely heard the control room door close behind him, but he was too busy lost in his own thoughts to pay attention to his surroundings. He just could not get her eyes out of his mind. Cool cerulean blue had stared at him unflinchingly, full of a fire and determination that had intimidated and fascinated him at the same time. The fact that she could still be so defiant after everything she had been through impressed the hell out of him. He didn't like feeling so much admiration for somebody like her, didn't like what that said about his own character, but he wasn't like his friends, he couldn't help how he felt.

"Layin' it on a little thick, don't you think, Chuck?"

Chuck looked up from staring at his feet with a start. When he saw who had addressed him, he smirked. "What's a matter, Carina, you jealous?"

"Always, Chuck, always," she said seriously.

Chuck only smiled at his partner and sometimes handler. He quickly sobered and the smile disappeared from his face as his eyes settled on the video monitor that showed Walker's cell. He felt himself tense up like a rattlesnake about to strike, his heart beating faster. He stared at the monitor showing Walker still sitting on her chair, his white button down thankfully granting her a minor amount of dignity. His conscience started clamoring to be heard.

"This is wrong," he said.

The other two occupants in the room, Bryce Larkin and John Casey, chose that moment to speak up for the first time.

"All this," Casey said, motioning with his hand to indicate the control room they were all standing in, "is exactly what she deserves."

"You don't know what she's done, Chuck," Bryce added.

Chuck said angrily, "I don't care what she's done, Bryce, nobody deserves to be treated like this." He jabbed his finger into the monitor's LCD screen. "For God's sake, how long have you made that poor woman sit there naked?"

"She killed my partner, Chuck," Casey snarled. "Carved her up like a pumpkin on Halloween." The man paused and laid a massive hand on Chuck's shoulder. He squeezed hard, making Chuck wince. "That's her thing, you know. She likes knives."

Carina sidled up to Chuck, bumping his hip with her own. She leaned in close, her voice low and harsh. "Don't you ever get close to her like that again, Chuck. It's too dangerous; you don't know what she might do." Her voice wavered just enough for Chuck to hear it.

Chuck sighed and deflated in defeat. It was impossible for him to maintain his righteous indignation when Carina actually allowed herself to appear vulnerable. Even if she was faking, which was something he'd never been able to tell. That was, and probably always would be, his kryptonite.

They had been together for four years now and Carina had done her level best to sleep with him for each and every one of those 1,460 days. He had rebuffed her offer initially because he simply wasn't ready for any kind of relationship after Jill had died. Eventually, his rejection had morphed into nothing more than a game. He told her no only because he knew it drove her absolutely insane. He might have felt bad about teasing her so, but he knew that she got off on his rejection almost as much as she got off on his acquiescence.

They had slept together only once, on his 25th birthday, and it had probably been the best sex of his life. It had also been a mistake, for many different reasons, and they had never done it again. That also drove Carina crazy. He had thought that, knowing Carina as he did, that after their one and only time, she would have sufficiently scratched that itch and moved onto other, more willing prey. Unfortunately, their one night together seemed to make her desire for repeat performances only increase.

There were moments where he thought about just giving in. Carina considered his capitulation inevitable. He wasn't so sure. Still, his resolve was always weakest when Carina let down her walls and showed a bit of the real woman she kept so carefully hidden; the woman that wasn't an amorous, deceitful and irreverently playful government drone. Like right now.

His eyes drifted again toward the monitor and he was reminded why he had been so indignant in the first place. For some reason he was having a difficult time looking away. "Her hands are tied behind her back," Chuck said in disbelief. "What could she possibly do?"

"Sarah Walker is the most dangerous woman you'll probably ever meet. Don't let a little thing like handcuffs fool you," Carina said.

"Even more dangerous than you?" Chuck asked with an arched eyebrow. Was Carina actually admitting to not being the best at something?

Carina frowned, her freckled face scrunching up rather cutely. Chuck nearly smiled, but he managed to keep himself from letting his amusement show. She really was giving his question serious thought. Eventually, she said rather reluctantly, "Probably yes, more dangerous than me. Fighting is not exactly my forte." Carina grinned wide and said heatedly into Chuck's ear, "I'm much more skilled at certain other forms of physical contact." She very lightly kissed the outer edge of Chuck's ear and he shivered.

"I'm sorry, Carina, but I had to do something," he said, trying to maintain his look of disapproval. It was more than a little difficult with Carina still standing so close, the subtle smell of lavender wafting around him, but one forlorn look at Walker and his resolve thickened. He had never felt so bad for another person in his life. She looked so damn pathetic it almost made him cry. Just because she had done bad things didn't necessarily make her a bad person. He had always believed that. Even if she was a bad person, that didn't mean she should be treated this way. "I couldn't just sit there while she was like that."

"What's a matter, Chuck, she making you a little hot under the collar?" Casey asked sarcastically.

Chuck blushed and quickly tore his eyes away from the figure of Walker. He hadn't been staring, had he? Despite the deep bruising that marred the right side of her face and the plum-like discoloration that had covered most of her upper body, she was still an incredibly beautiful woman. No amount of damage could obscure that fact; Casey and the others had certainly tried to, but despite all the pain and hurt they had inflicted on her, she still looked stunning. He suspected his appreciation had more to do with her attitude than actual appearance. She was, above all things, a fighter.

It had taken all his self control and every single skill he'd picked up from spending so much time with Carina not to stare at Sarah Walker in open-mouthed wonder and astonishment. He had never been so uncomfortable, embarrassed, and enthralled all at once. He had felt more than a little disgusted with himself for feeling that way, but he couldn't help it. He thought he'd done a good job of keeping his thoughts to himself while with her, but he probably had just come across like an idiot who couldn't do anything more than smile stupidly at the woman in front of him.

Surprisingly, it was Carina who quickly interjected with, "Don't be so crude, Casey."

Bryce clapped Chuck on the shoulder. "Yeah, not even Chuck is that gullible and easily manipulated."

"Uh…thanks, I think."

Ever the practical and impatient one, Casey said, "How long is this going to take, Chuck?"

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and brought a hand up to rub his chin. "I honestly don't know." He was finally able to tear his eyes away from the monitor for longer than five seconds. He gave Casey a level look. "You can't rush this, John. The whole point of me being here is because the General and Graham wanted a softer approach. That takes time."

Casey sighed and looked like he was going to object, but he just shook his head. "You're right, of course. I just – I'm tired of waiting."

"This is why I objected to this form of questioning from the very beginning," Bryce said. He walked over to the monitor and stared at it silently. Chuck watched the interplay of the muscles moving under Bryce's shirt; the way they tensed and relaxed gave voice to the tumultuous thoughts that must have been rampaging through his friend's mind. Bryce said, "I knew Walker, before she disappeared. I worked with her for three months, and in that time I never heard a single piece of personal information. I told you she wouldn't talk, no matter how much you interrogated her. If she doesn't want you to know something, then you won't know it."

"I don't understand," Chuck said. "Why make her go through this if it wasn't even going to work?" He would never understand how the CIA and the NSA thought. He had only spent 10 minutes with Walker and even he had picked up on how strong her willpower was. A woman like her would never give in to a direct approach; you had to come at her sideways. You had to play on her vulnerabilities, her insecurities, and her hopes. You had to make her not just want an alternative, but crave it with every fiber of her being. You had to give her something to love, something tangible. "We've wasted so much time," Chuck complained.

Casey growled and clenched his hands into fists. Chuck knew that Casey's frustration and anger wasn't directed at him but it still scared the crap out of him all the same. "Not that I didn't enjoy the time I got to spend with her, but if they had just let us bring you in sooner, we'd probably be weeks ahead of schedule."

Carina sighed and said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but they should have listened to the shrinks."

Casey grunted with deep disapproval and sneered, "Those psych profiles are never worth the paper they're printed on. Seriously, I once had one of those Agency pricks tell me I had unresolved anger issues." He grinned briefly as Chuck and Carina laughed. "There is nothing unresolved about my anger."

Chuck nodded his head at Casey's comment. He turned back to look at Walker. "That woman," Chuck pointed at Walker, "is a very broken individual. You don't need a psych profile to see how emotionally damaged she is." He sighed as he remembered how lost and desperate her eyes had looked. "She is so desperate for some kind of genuine human affection that even you could turn her, John." Chuck made sure to smile to take the sting out of the backhanded compliment.

"That's why you're here, kid." Casey smirked. "So I don't have to."

"I'm not here to interrogate her, Casey, I hope you realize that. I'll get the information, but that's not why I'm doing this." Walker was still sitting on her chair, her head bowed. Now that Chuck was here, the sleep deprivation was going to stop. She would be able to finally sleep, even if she was in an unimaginably uncomfortable position. "It's like I told her, that's not my thing. I really am just here to be her friend; so that she has somebody to talk to."

Carina laughed lightly, and rubbed his arm, pride and affection in her voice as she said, "It's about time Chuck's annoying optimism, naiveté, and considerable charm finally paid off for us. Who better to make the unflappable flappable than Chuck?"

Chuck blushed slightly and looked away from his three companions. His eyes naturally settled on Walker. "Just don't expect any miracles."

# # # # #

Chuck waited until the door was opened for him before he stepped through the door into Walker's hole, the same metal chair he had used before dragging behind him. She was awake and staring at him intently as he moved.

He set the chair down in the same place he had put it earlier. To his surprise, she spoke first, "You again."

Chuck gave her his friendliest smile. He had picked up during their first meeting that his smiles unnerved her. They made her flustered and brought her out of her comfort zone, which is what he needed. She was probably unused to people smiling at her, or at least people who didn't want anything from her. The more uncomfortable she was, the easier his job was. He wasn't necessarily concerned about how much psychological damage her opening up to him would do; he had a job to do and an objective to complete. He would do his best to ease her transition back to her humanity, but only as much as it was necessary to make her eventual breaking possible.

"Did you miss me?"

Walker snorted but there was a very small smile on her face, almost like she didn't even know it was there. "How long has it been since you were last here?"

"Three and a half hours," Chuck answered promptly.

Walker's eyes widened slightly and she frowned. "I could have sworn it was longer," she murmured.

Chuck was sure she was talking to herself and not him, but he responded anyway. "If it makes you feel any better, you were asleep for most of it."

"I was?"

"Yeah, couldn't you tell?"

"I…um…no." She looked embarrassed and she stared at her lap intently. "I had no idea."

Chuck sighed and felt the wellspring of pity and sympathy inside of him increase. He wanted so badly to make everything better for her. "That's okay, I'm going to fix that."

"You are?"

Chuck nodded vehemently and sat down on his chair. "I told you, I'd like to be your friend if you let me." He smiled at her and watched her flinch slightly. "And in order to show my sincerity, a few things around here are going to change."

She was still staring at her lap, and she asked in a very quiet, almost childlike tone, "What things?"

Chuck raised his right hand and immediately heard the sound of other people filing into the room behind him. "First things first, we are going to give you some clothes."

Two very large men carefully approached the huddled form of Walker and grasped both of her arms. A third moved behind Walker and undid her zip tie, pulling her hands free. Walker barely even moved; if she was aware that her hands were no longer locked behind her back, she gave no indication of it.

"Now I would like very much to tell my associates to let you go so that you may dress yourself, only they are reluctant to do so because they believe you will try to hurt me. Will you hurt me, Ms. Walker?"

Walker finally lifted her head and glared at him. "Yes!"

Chuck sighed in disappointment and shook his head. He had really hoped she might make things easy for him, still he wasn't that deterred. He had expected that response. "Well, I'm going to do it anyway."

Chuck figured he had less than 30 seconds before Carina came bursting through the door, demanding his immediate extraction. He had to get his three associates out of the room and barring her way before she could stop him. "Agent Black, would you please give us some privacy?"

Agent Black hesitated for only the briefest of seconds, looking back and forth between Chuck and Walker, but he eventually consented to Chuck's request as Chuck knew he would. Chuck rarely ever directly interfaced with CIA or NSA personnel, but when he did, his presence alone was usually enough to convince that personnel to do as he asked. He was the mysterious, sometimes infamous, Charles Carmichael and his authority came directly from General Beckman and Director Graham.

"Of course, sir."

Black motioned with his head for the other two men to follow him out of the room. Chuck reached out and grabbed Black's elbow; Black came to an immediate stop. He gave Black his most serious, cold, and uncompromising tone, "And Agent Black, nobody is to interrupt us, for any reason. Do you understand?"

He almost grinned when he saw Black gulp faintly. Black probably knew what was coming his way. He watched the tree men exit the room and then shut the door. The three men were _probably_ sufficiently big enough to hold Carina back long enough for him to do what he needed to do. He had to show Walker trust if he was expecting any back in return, and he couldn't do that if he wasn't alone with her.

He turned back around to face Walker, surprised that he hadn't even been slightly concerned about turning his back to her for so long. She still hadn't really moved. She was still in the same spot, only now she was gingerly stretching her body, occasionally letting out barely audible groans of pain as her body contorted. When Chuck saw the way his shirt moved on her slight frame as she arched her back, he had to immediately avert his eyes. It just wasn't right to see that part of her anatomy, even if he had seen everything she had to offer only a few hours before.

Chuck stared at Walker and she stared at him right back, her face completely unreadable to him. Through the door, he could hear Carina's extremely angry and terrified voice yelling at Black. He had to move things along; it wouldn't take Carina long to either persuade the men to let her through or simply render them unconscious. And once she did that, Chuck knew he would be in very big trouble.

"You are not very smart, are you?" Walker asked.

"My partner tells me that nearly every day," Chuck quipped.

"Who _are_ you?"

Chuck chuckled softly. "I know that you've barely slept or eaten in the last few days, but surely your memory can't be that bad."

Walker frowned and growled, "That's not what I meant."

"I know," Chuck said softly. Then he smiled. "Look, I'll make you a deal. You let me have my delusions, like thinking of you as a friend, and you can go on quietly hating my guts. Deal?"

She glowered at him but after a few seconds of quiet contemplation, she nodded her head stiffly.

Chuck clapped his hands in excitement. "Great!" He walked over to the chair, where one of the men had placed a set of clothes. He lifted up the pile and held them out for Walker to grab. "Okay, now I've got you some clothes. I apologize in advance if they don't fit very well, but as you can probably imagine, my familiarity with the opposite sex is not exactly strong."

"I never would have guessed," Walker said drily. She slowly took the clothes from his hands, like she was afraid he was hiding a grenade in the pile somewhere.

Chuck merely grinned, not perturbed in the slightest by her sarcasm. In fact, he was very pleased that he had gotten her to speak with something other than venom or surprise in her voice.

"I'm going to turn my back now, so you can have some privacy. I promise not to peek," he said cheekily.

"It's not like you haven't seen everything already," she pointed out with a roll of her eyes.

Chuck flushed red and averted his eyes from her body. "I'm really sorry about that. I couldn't believe they had done that to you when I first got here." To his horror, he started to babble, "That's not exactly how I pictured seeing you naked for the first time." His eyes widened when he realized what he'd said. "Not that I have pictured you that way or that I would ever think you'd want me to picture you like that or that you aren't worth looking at like that and I think I'm just going to shut up now."

Walker laughed and Chuck was embarrassed by the thrill that ran through him at the sound. "You're cute," she said. It was her turn for her eyes to widen at the words that escaped her mouth. She turned the reddest color Chuck had ever seen another person turn and buried her face into the pile of clothes in her hands. After several seconds of oppressive silence, she lifted her head and looked at him with tears in her eyes. "I didn't mean that. I hate you."

Chuck scrambled for something to say so that they could both move past this intensely awkward moment. He had nothing, so he did the only thing he could do, he turned around so that she could get dressed. "I'm going to trust you not to stab me in the back or snap my neck or break my incredibly fragile bones. Just let me know when you're decent."

He heard a rustle of clothes and several seconds later Walker said, "Okay."

Carefully, his hand over his eyes, he turned around. "Are you sure everything is all right?"

"Yes."

He pulled his hand away from his eyes and audibly sucked in a breath. She was beautiful. He was slightly chagrined over how easy it was for him to overlook the bruising of her face as a mere minor inconvenience. He liked to think of himself as not a particularly shallow individual, but what did it say about his own thought process, if he was already starting to judge her less on her physical appearance and more on who she was as a person? Had he already lost his emotional objectivity that quickly?

He sighed and peered appreciatively up and down her body. He had given her a simple pair of black sweats, a white t-shirt that he was just discovering was a little too thin, and a pair of gray socks, and yet she looked…awesome. He'd always been a fan of the casual look and he was pretty sure that thanks to Sarah Walker, he'd be a fan of the casual look for the rest of his life. He honestly didn't know what to say. She'd even done her best to fix up her hair. What was once a tangled mess was now a simple ponytail. "Where did you get the tie for your hair?" He winced at the seemingly stupid nature of his question.

"Oh…somewhere," she said vaguely with a wave of her hand.

Chuck blinked and felt fear for really the first time. Carina was right about Walker. He needed to get his head back in the game. "Great, you look great." That wasn't what he meant to say. "Sorry about the lack of underwear," he squeaked. Okay, that _really_ wasn't what he meant to say. "I mean, how do you feel?"

She nodded her head and said, "Better, thank you." She really did look like a different person.

"Good. Good." There was a loud pounding on the door and Chuck knew Carina was seconds away from getting very violent. It was time to wrap this up. "I hope you haven't gotten too attached to this lovely dank hole."

"I'm sure it'll be hard, but I think I can manage tearing myself away."

Chuck grinned and motioned with his hand for her to come closer. "That's good to hear because I've arranged to move you to another room. More space, a bed, even a window."

"Wow, you really know how to spoil a girl."

"I know, it's hard to believe I'm still single."

"I hope you don't think that just because you're nice to me, given me some clothes and a new room, that I'm suddenly going to answer your questions."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good, because this," she moved her hand back and forth to indicate the both of them, "whatever it is, is not going to work."

Chuck sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I told you, I'm not here to interrogate you, I'm here to be your friend."

"You keep saying that like it's supposed to mean something to me. Well, it doesn't and I'm tired of hearing it."

"It's the only answer I have."

"Why are you really here?"

"I already told you."

"You've told me nothing."

Chuck crossed his arms in front of his chest and wiped all amusement or kindness from his face. "If you want to be difficult, then fine. I can stop playing nice too." He straightened up so that he towered over her even more than usual and looked intently into her eyes. "Tell me everything you know about Fulcrum, Ms. Walker, and don't leave anything out."

* * *

**Next chapter:** _I'm walking on sunshine_ - Chuck and Sarah continue to get to know each other and a little more information is revealed about why Sarah is in this mess.


	3. Walkin' On Sunshine

**Author's Note:** Wow, guys, you're all awesome. The response to this story has been greater than I could have ever hoped. Thank you so much.

Now many of you, in your reviews, have expressed your confusion over just what is going on and your desire to learn more. Unfortunately, this chapter doesn't contain much in the way of answers, just more Charah peanut butter chocolately goodness. _Next_ chapter is where answers start flying fast and furious.

* * *

She watched him with hooded eyes as he walked into her cell.

Her cell was different now. For one thing, she could no longer refer to it as a hole. It was actually above ground.

It had four walls, painted a glaring off-white color that on more than one occasion had led her to fantasize about discoloring them with splashes of her own blood.

At least it would break up the monotony.

It had a single bay window with a bench that she would spend hours sitting on, looking at the outside world, a world she would probably never see again.

There was a twin bed bolted to the floor and the mattress was uncomfortably hard, but compared to the metal chair she'd been occupying for the last how many days, it was the most decadent kind of luxury. The rough cotton sheets cooled and soothed her skin and more than once she'd found herself lying in her bed for hours after waking just to revel in the feeling.

Attached to her cell was a half-bath. She had her own toilet, also a vast improvement over how she'd been relieving herself before, and a chipped ceramic sink that she often used to dunk her head under. The freezing cold water always woke her from the seemingly perpetual haze she had found herself in ever since she had met the man that called himself Carmichael.

They let her shower every other day. It was unadulterated heaven. She had always loved showers, but now that everything in her life was regulated, controlled, and stark, she lived for those showers. She had 10 whole minutes all to herself; no cameras, listening devices, or harassing guards carefully watching her every move. The water was even warm.

For the shower alone, she probably would have been pathetically grateful to Carmichael for the rest of her life. She would never admit that publically, of course, or anything else for that matter, but privately, when she actually allowed herself to think about the things happening in her life, she would admit how unbelievably relieved she was that Carmichael had declared himself her personal advocate and her friend.

She dreamed of him now. Almost every night. And those dreams were hardly the kind of dreams a person should have of their jailer. She couldn't understand it, couldn't help herself, couldn't stop. She would wake up unimaginably hot, her entire body flushed, her t-shirt stifling and clinging to her chest, her thighs clamped together in an attempt to ease the pleasurable pressure growing in her lower abdomen, the need to touch herself nearly overwhelming. She never did.

She wouldn't give them the satisfaction, wouldn't let them see how effective their little bit of psychological warfare was being. She refused to let them see how confused she was or how little she trusted her own judgment these days. She couldn't hide the feelings completely, no matter how much she would have liked to. It was a liability but it wasn't really her fault. She couldn't help what she dreamed. She knew she probably moaned during her dreams, was confident that they had an idea of just what kind of dreams she was having, but wouldn't let them see how much He affected her.

She already felt disgusted with herself for having the dreams in the first place and she had no desire to make the situation worse. She was positive that this was part of their plan to make her lower her defenses, but why was it happening so fast? Carmichael wasn't _that_ special. Just how screwed up was she? Maybe they were giving her drugs she didn't know about. That had to be it. It was the only thing that made sense. She'd only known the man for a few weeks and she couldn't help feeling like some kind of idiot girl with a crush when he was around her.

She didn't think she'd be able to even look him in the eye if he found out just what she was dreaming.

He sat down on his metal chair. He always had the same damn chair.

"Good morning, Ms. Walker," he said, with the same genuine, completely open smile that he always had. She really hated that goddamn smile. She couldn't think straight when he was smiling at her like that.

"Good morning," she said. She smiled, completely involuntarily. When she realized what she was doing, she hastily wiped the smile off her face.

"How did you sleep? Not too hot was it?" He smirked at her, his eyes full of amusement.

Damn him! He knew! She couldn't help it, she started to blush and had to look away from him. Staring at a wall far away from his beautiful, mirthful eyes, she said stiffly, "Fine."

"Good." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes still dancing with humor.

At that moment she had never hated a person more in life. She decided to tell him as much in an effort to wipe that smile from his face. "I really hate you right now."

He laughed from deep inside his chest and she thought the sound was beautiful. Like everything else related to him, she hated his laugh too.

"It's good to see your sense of humor is still going strong."

"Who said I was joking? I really do hate you, you know."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Right, of course you do. You tell me that every day."

"That's because I mean it!" she harrumphed. She glared at him with the kind of glare that had always made men quake and piss themselves at the sight of it. When she used it on him, he simply smiled at her. It was beyond infuriating. "I. Hate. You," she said as slowly and with as much malice as she could, just so he would understand she meant it.

He just ignored her. "Would you like to join me for lunch?" He paused and then said, "Well, I guess it's more like brunch but I always thought brunch was a pretty stupid concept. I mean, is there a linner? No, so why is there a brunch?"

He was cute when he babbled. Stop that! She had to concentrate on the important stuff, like the fact that he had just offered to eat lunch with her. She steadied her traitorous heart and blinked in surprise. She dropped her mouth open like a fish and stammered, "Wh-what?"

He stood up and extended his hand to her. "I said, would you like to join me for some lunch?" He looked at her expectantly.

Dumbly, she stood up and grabbed his hand, too shocked to even contemplate doing him harm. "You mean…outside my cell?" This would be the first time she'd even left her cell in days, except for her showers. She was so excited by the concept she could barely think straight. She was not the kind of woman that was used to being in enclosed places for very long. She had never been so inactive and still in her life. It was slowly driving her insane. When she didn't dream about Carmichael, she found herself having simple dreams of taking a walk in a park or sitting under a tree or sitting on the beach at the ocean. She was tired of smelling the same recycled air. She was tired of forgetting what the sun truly looked like—when it wasn't being filtered through heavily glazed safety glass—or even what it felt like. She just wanted to feel the wind caressing her skin one last time. It was its own kind of special torture, which she knew was probably the point. These CIA people had her number good. She was really starting to freak out about how well they seemed to know her.

He grinned and wrapped his fingers gently around hers. He slowly tugged her forward, leading her toward the door.

She didn't know what was going on. She had lost the ability to think of anything but an incoherent babble the second his skin touched hers. It was like she had been dunked in a vat of warm water; the heat enveloped her and wrapped her in what felt like a cocoon. She immediately felt the pressure inside of her grow and forced herself to think of anything but how his hand felt or how he smelled or how he smiled. She thought of the pain, the degradation, the humiliation she had faced at the hands of this man's associates. That did the trick. She no longer wanted to pull him toward her, throw him onto the bed, and just rip all his clothes off; which was such a ludicrous thought in and of itself that she was rapidly pulled out of whatever fantasy she might have constructed before it could even get off the ground.

He was talking and she made herself concentrate on his words. She had to be vigilant. Anything Carmichael said might be useful in figuring out a way to subdue him and escape the facility. "Actually, that's exactly what we're doing."

"Huh?" she said intelligently.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled down at her. "We're going to eat outside today."

Her legs stopped working and she looked longingly at her window. "We're going to eat outside?" she asked in awe.

His smile grew wider. "Cool, huh? I managed to convince them that it was a good idea and that you would be perfectly nice."

"Are…are you serious?"

He turned completely around, and gently grabbed her other hand so that now he was holding both. "I told you that things were going to change around here and I meant it. It's not right for someone like you to be cooped up in a place like this."

"Someone like me?"

"Yeah, you know, a kick ass ninja girl. A warrior goddess. A valkyrie. A wild horse yearning to be free," he rambled.

She arched one of her eyebrows. "How the hell did I go from a kick ass ninja girl to a _horse_ in only five seconds?"

He blushed slightly and grinned faintly at her. "Ah yeah, sometimes my mouth runs away from me when I'm nervous."

"Why are you nervous? You actually get to go home at the end of the night."

"Ms. Walker, I don't really mean to give you the wrong impression, but you are…well, you're beautiful." Carmichael looked furtive and fidgeted constantly. "I don't exactly do well around women like you."

She was inordinately pleased he thought she was beautiful but she was getting sick and tired of the way he addressed her. "Stop calling me that!"

Carmichael looked taken aback with her vehemence. "Stop calling you what?"

"That's not my name. Stop it."

He slowly came to a halt and she was forced to stop too. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

She forced her hands free and glared at him. "That's not my name either. Sarah Walker doesn't exist. I have no identity, okay?" She hugged herself tightly, and looked away from his confused face.

"I'm not real. I don't exist."

# # # # #

They were sitting at an honest to God picnic table and she was convinced that she was dead. It was the only thing that made sense. Somewhere, back in her hole, there was her naked and broken body drained of life. It really would explain a lot of things. Like why all of a sudden this weird, mysterious, adorable, unnaturally sweet man suddenly appeared in her life. Why he suddenly seemed to care if she was taken care of and properly treated. Why she couldn't get him out of her head. Why he had managed to worm his way into her thoughts so quickly. Being dead would cover that.

Unfortunately, she probably wasn't dead. She had yet to determine if that was a good or bad thing. At the moment, she was leaning toward good.

She was outside for the first time since her capture. She could smell the pungent scent of freshly mowed grass, the tang of the orange grove just a few feet away, the simple cleanliness of the air. Wind ruffled her hair and she actually had to squint if she wanted to see her companion because the sun, the beautiful sun, was shining so bright. Again, she was probably dead.

She nibbled absently on the sandwich in her hand. It was delicious, probably the best thing she'd tasted in weeks, but the allure of being free and outside overrode her desire to eat. She was turning her head every which way and that, getting her fill, like she was some hermit seeing the world around her for the first time in 20 years. She was at peace. She could stay out here, sitting at the picnic table, until she really was dead.

Then Carmichael started talking and her tranquility was shattered. "My name is Bartowski."

She swung her eyes around to look at the man sitting across from her. She squinted at him intently, her sandwich falling to the table unnoticed. "What?"

"I said my name is Bartowski. Chuck Bartowski."

She was at a loss for words. "Why are you telling me this? You should not be telling me that!" She was actually panicking at the notion that he was giving her his real name. Didn't he understand that she couldn't be trusted? What would happen to him if somebody she worked with found out who he was? Was that even his real name?

He shrugged and just took a bite out of his own sandwich. "You told me earlier that you didn't have an identity. That Sarah Walker didn't exist." He took a big bite of his lunch and then put it down on the table. "I don't agree with that at all. You exist. Maybe your name isn't Sarah Walker. That's okay, I get that. My name isn't Carmichael, that's not who I am, not really. But you are more than just a name; you're a very intelligent, beautiful woman that has just gotten involved in some unfortunate events with the wrong people. What you call yourself doesn't really matter." He pointed at his own head. "You exist in here. To me, you exist, so I don't want to ever hear you say anything like that again."

Not for the first time since meeting Carmichael—correction, Chuck Bartowski—she was struck dumb. Who was this man? He couldn't actually be real. Nobody was this perfect. Nobody was this understanding. Nobody cared this much over complete strangers. It was like he always knew the right thing to say in exactly the right way, no matter the situation, no matter how she was feeling. He was a freak, an apparition, a personification of all her fantasies.

That was what, she determined right then and there, made him so dangerous to her. He didn't judge her over the things she'd done, he didn't treat her like some kind of monster, he just accepted her at face value. To him, she was no more and no less than a young woman in trouble. He didn't seem to have some kind of savior complex; he only appeared to genuinely want to help her be the best person she could be. Unfortunately for him, there was not a lot to work with, as she was sure he would eventually determine on his own. When that time came, she expected he'd want nothing more to do with her, but until then she couldn't help but revel in his attention and presence. In her weaker moments, like when he smiled at her, she found herself actually wanting to live up to his expectations. She wanted to prove him right. She wanted to become…better.

This whole situation was a nightmare.

"You don't even know me. How can you possibly believe that?"

"I know you better than you think," he said with the strangest smile on his face. It was like he knew more than he was letting on, which didn't really make sense to her, because as far as she knew, her CIA file had been purged. That had been one of her conditions for leaving the Company and joining Fulcrum. It was far more likely that Chuck was simply talking about his magical ability to see inside her soul than anything else. "I like to think I learn a little more about you each day."

"So you can find out what I know," she pointed out bitterly. What she wouldn't give to have just met Chuck on the street or in a bar or while getting a cup of coffee. She was convinced that if she had, she wouldn't be in her current predicament.

"Yes," he said straightforwardly.

She blinked and looked down at the picnic table. She was a little surprised that he had admitted that so easily. She had had a whole line of arguments, insults, and diversions all planned for when he denied spending time with her to gain information. Now he'd just taken all the wind out of her bluster. "I…"

"I have always done my best to be honest with you, Sarah," he said seriously. Then he smiled slightly. "Except for lying about my name." He shrugged and even looked a little embarrassed. "Sorry about that by the way, it wasn't my choice." He reached out for her hand and grabbed it gently. "I am here to get the information that you hold in your head. That's true. But that's only a minor reason for why I'm here. Someday, you may even believe me when I say that. I want to help you, Sarah. You can trust me."

"But why?" She just couldn't understand. People like him just didn't help people like her. People like him usually ran in the _opposite_ direction when they even got just a sight of people like her.

"Because I believe it's the right thing to do. Because I don't believe that you are a lost cause." He shrugged his shoulders and let go of her hand. "Mainly, though, I just believe in helping people. I believe that people can change." He grinned slightly, looking off at the orange grove. "My…uh…partner always says that I'm too naïve for my own good. That I always try to find the best in people even when it doesn't exist."

She made sure to make a note of the hesitation he had used when talking about his partner. It made her wonder if the very attractive woman she often saw hovering around Chuck was more than just a partner, and she didn't just mean that in a personal sense, although there was a part of her demanding to get an answer to that question as well as the other. This was the perfect opportunity to finally get some information on the people keeping her captive.

She knew Chuck wasn't an agent, at least not one like her. Why he was the one they had chosen to interrogate her, she was slowly coming to understand, but she was growing confident with every passing day that her initial impression that Chuck was nothing more than an analyst with high connections was wrong. That would explain the red head's presence. She believed that, from the way she hovered, the red head was less a partner and more a handler. That would also make Chuck more than just a simple analyst. But what, exactly, he was she had no idea. She had to be careful. She couldn't just come out and be obvious about fishing for information, even if Chuck might never notice. The others probably would.

Picking at a couple crumbs, she asked as disinterested as she could, "So where is she?" When she saw his confusion, she added, "Your shadow, I mean."

"My shadow?"

"Yeah, the red head that's always hovering around you."

Chuck laughed loudly. "My shadow." He grinned at her and she felt her pulse beat just a little bit faster. Even her own body was turning against her. "Oh man, she's going to love that."

She ignored the wry smile on his face and forced herself to stay on objective. "You guys been working together a long time?"

"Honestly, sometimes I can't even remember a time before she popped into my life."

"So you're close then?"

Chuck frowned slightly; his head cocked to the side, and then gave himself a little shake. "You could say that. Nobody I'd rather work with more."

She nodded like she understood, but it was only an act. She hated the people she worked with; more like loathed, actually. She had probably been through more than five partners since she had joined Fulcrum. Part of it was a result of her difficult, often contrarian, personality. She had never played well with others. But mostly, it was because there was just too big a philosophical divide between herself and the people she worked for. She preferred being alone.

"Anyways, I made her give us some privacy." He chuckled and looked behind him, like if he looked hard enough, he might see the red head skulking around somewhere keeping tabs on them. "She wanted me to do this little lunch date inside your room, with her just outside the door, but…well…let's just say she has a problem saying no to me and leave it at that."

Lunch _date_? She had to stop herself from grinning like a lovesick teenager at his choice of words. My God she was being ridiculous. She knew he hadn't meant anything by the word, but she still got excited. Had it really been that long since she'd been with someone that she was getting this desperate? She needed to get her mind off that train of thought so she said the first thing that popped into her head, "She's right, you know."

"What do you mean?"

She frowned but knew she was committed so she might as well continue. She just hoped he'd ignore everything she was about to say and not reconsider ever doing this again. "About doing this outside. It's a tactically unwise situation." She pointed all around her. "Too much open space, too far away from any possible support, and the orange grove is perfect for evading pursuit." She leaned forward slightly and looked at him with cold eyes. "I could break your neck and be in those trees before somebody even got within 100 feet."

Chuck just looked serene and unconcerned. "I'm not worried."

"Why not?" she whined. Why wasn't he afraid of her!? His total lack of fear was really starting to annoy her. Intimidating men was one of the few things she truly excelled at. It had saved her life in countless situations and yet she couldn't even make Chuck blink.

"Just because."

"That's not a reason!"

"It's good enough for me."

"Ugh!" she yelled and exploded off her seat. She started to pace in front of the picnic table, mumbling angrily to herself in frustration. "Why can't you make sense!?"

"I'm making perfect sense. Now sit down before you really start making them nervous."

"Them?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and stood up so that he could look more directly at her. "Yes, them. Did you really think that we'd be completely alone out here?"

Of course she didn't think that. She wasn't an amateur and she wasn't stupid. If it were her arranging this little date, she'd make sure to have at least two snipers on overwatch, not to mention tac teams on standby for immediate action. She suddenly froze as thoughts coalesced in her mind. "Hmmm…" This was an opportunity that she might never have again. "I should kill you."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at her hard. "You'd be dead soon after."

"Oh please, don't be so naïve."

"What do you mean? I'm not being naïve."

"Yes, you are. What do you think is going to happen to me when they're finished with me, huh? Do you think they're going to let me leave with a 'Sorry about the torture, hope you don't tell anyone' and a pat on the head?" She started to walk around the picnic table until she was standing right in front of him. She could reach out and touch him if she wanted, and oh did she want. "Of course not. They're going to kill me. Somebody like me, they can't even risk sticking in some hole for the rest of my life. At least if I kill you, right here and right now, I probably get a bullet to the head and a fast death. The alternative is I wake up one morning, probably after months of more torture and interrogation, and find I've gone and hung myself with my bed sheets, unable to manage the unbearable guilt over betraying my country, blah blah blah." She rolled her eyes. "As you can imagine, you're looking like a better alternative with every minute."

Chuck blinked at her and then said completely deadpan, "Wow, that's the most I've ever heard you say at once. We should talk about you killing me more often."

"That's it! I give up!" She threw her hands into the air and stomped back to her side of the picnic table. She sat down with a huff, folded her arms, and started to pout. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met!"

"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be annoying." He really did sound apologetic.

"I know! That's what makes you so annoying!"

"Maybe we should call it a day," Chuck said.

Panic rose in her at his words. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to go back inside. She wanted to stay outside forever. "Wait, no, I'll calm down, I promise."

Chuck was clearly finished with her, however, and he motioned for her to follow him back to the compound. "I will see you again tomorrow. Maybe we will do this again sometime."

She almost started to cry, she felt so bad over screwing things up. If only she had just shut up and acted properly grateful. She could read between the lines. His 'maybe' was more like 'no chance in hell'.

Unwilling to end her contact with Chuck just yet, she did her best to stall. "Aren't you going to ask me the question?"

"What question?" He asked distractedly.

"The same question you ask me every day before you leave."

"Oh, right." He stopped in front of the door that led into the compound. Standing outside of it are two men waiting for them. Chuck turned to her and asked lightly, "What can you tell me about Fulcrum, Sarah?"

She gave him the same answer she always gave him. "Nothing. What's Fulcrum?"

They both smiled and went inside.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _Gardenia Dreams_ - A flashback chapter where we see just how Sarah got herself in this mess, get a little background on what she's doing with Fulcrum, and maybe even some clues about what the hell is going on. If there are clues, though, they'll be hard to see.


	4. Gardenia Dreams

**Author's Note:** Again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I've never had a response like this for a story before. In fact, this is the most reviewed Chuck story I've ever written, so you guys are all awesome.

Hopefully you guys like this flashback chapter. It's all Sarah, all the time. You get some insight into her thought process, what she was doing before her capture, and maybe some answers to a couple of your questions. Not a lot of answers, I don't think, but some. Enjoy!

* * *

Tommy pressed a button on the controller in his hand and the building schematic for Aegis Securities appeared on the large television monitor in the conference room.

"As most of you already know, this is our target for tonight: a joint CIA/NSA data mining and storage facility." The schematic was of a building five stories tall, and a rather simple design. It was roughly rectangular although it widened into a vague square shape for the last third of the building. The entire front façade was dark blue glass and the building proper seemed to be of the same design as any number of hardened government buildings. To her eye, it did an admirable job of looking like any other commercial building you would find in an office park in suburban Los Angeles. There was nothing overtly special or unique about it; in fact, it was quite boring, which was almost certainly the point. A facility like that would do its best to appear as innocuous as possible.

She was bored. She had been bored ever since she started this assignment three weeks ago. She thought it was pointless and a waste of her considerable skills. She was a highly capable operative, trained in all number of armed and unarmed combat, could have any man begging at a mere batting of her eyelashes, and had been widely considered one of the best, if not the best, agents in the CIA before she left, and yet here she was, playing glorified babysitter to a bunch of incompetent idiots.

"Our objective for this operation is twofold. First to extract all data pertaining to these two special access projects: Project Perseus and Project Orion." Tommy pressed another button and the monitor changed to display all the information Fulcrum had managed to scrounge together about the two highly secretive and much unknown projects. She was not impressed by the lack of concrete information; what Fulcrum was running on was nothing more than conjecture and supposition. Tommy continued on, "We believe these two projects have some connection to the Intersect project. It is of paramount importance that we extract this data."

She sighed and had to force herself not to roll her eyes. The Intersect project was nothing more than a fantasy. It was a boogie man that the CIA and NSA had cooked up in an attempt to put the fear of God into organizations like Fulcrum. She'd seen the reports, she'd talked to the Elders, and she'd lead the missions. She had never found any significant evidence in three years of searching that the Intersect actually existed. She didn't know why Fulcrum's upper echelon insisted on continuing these fool errands, but she had learned long ago, that in her line of work, you were much better off if you didn't question things. Especially if those things you shouldn't question were orders.

"Secondly, we are to upload a logic bomb onto the CIA's data network and then destroy the facility. It is hoped that with the destruction of the facility, the CIA will not discover the logic bomb until it is too late, allowing us a window of opportunity to exploit the information we gather on Projects Perseus and Orion."

She couldn't stay silent any longer. He was making it sound all neat and tidy; just like he had made the last two ops she had overseen sound all neat and tidy. They were still waiting on replacement personnel for the five men they had lost in San Leandro. She was tired of sitting back, keeping her mouth shut and just observing, as she'd been instructed. If she was going to be risking her life, then she wanted to make sure the plan actually worked. She may have hated her job, but that didn't mean she hated it enough to do it poorly. She had too much professional pride for that. "And just what kind of resistance are you expecting tonight?"

Tommy glared at her and she could see in his angry eyes that he was imagining just how many different ways he could make her have an "accident" during the mission. She had quickly learned that there was not much that Tommy hated more than being reminded of his mistakes. She just smiled back at him sweetly, making herself look as innocent as possible.

There was probably nobody on the planet she currently disliked more than Tommy and the feeling was more than mutual. He hated her because she was the embodiment of the lack of faith the Elders had in his abilities. She hated him just for existing. He was sloppy, unnecessarily brutal, and reminded her too much of the arrogant bureaucrats she had dealt with while with the Company. That was why she was here. Tommy's operation had been bleeding manpower, materiel, and money for years. The Elders had finally gotten fed up and sent her in to conduct an internal audit of the entire branch. Essentially, every Fulcrum agent along the West Coast was now under her evaluation. It would have been a heady feeling if she actually cared about anything she did for Fulcrum beyond ensuring she lived to see the next day.

She had stopped caring about things like duty or honor or the greater good the day they had murdered her father and stopped caring about pretty much anything else the day they gave her to the wolves to do with as they pleased. There were some days where she wished things were different, where she wished that she could go back to her old life, where she wished she could live a righteous life, but those days were few and far between.

Tommy contorted his lips into a snarl but he was smart enough not to question her in front of the other people in the room. Even objecting to her interference in private could be enough to have him permanently removed if she felt so inclined. Fortunately for him, she found that his impotent rage and floundering around, trying to reassert his dominance over his own operation and her, amused her.

"Resistance should be light," Tommy said. "If you had bothered to read the ops plan, you'd see that we will be infiltrating the facility during the night shift, where personnel should be at its lightest," he said in complete contempt. "No more than six security personnel, some custodial support, and a few analysts."

She pushed away from the table with a flourish and deeply enjoyed the annoyed look that flashed across Tommy's face. She had always loved putting on performances, from her childhood conning business men out of their money with her father, to convincing some poor dumb bastard that had the unfortunate circumstance of popping on the government's radar that she was the love of his life. It was all the same in her mind. Lying and deceit were in her blood. Most days she honestly didn't know who she was. So it was with that desire to be as theatrical as possible that she stalked toward Tommy like a panther hunting its prey.

She didn't really mean for her walk to come off as sensual, but she couldn't help the way she moved with sinewy, effortless grace. She thrust her chest out a little more than usual and felt the blouse she was wearing tighten around her breasts. She put just a little bit more sway into her hips and smiled enigmatically at the man at the front of the room. She watched with no small amount of satisfaction as his eyes widened and then dilated slightly as she moved closer. His breathing sped up. She could feel the eyes of every person there watching her move.

She was disgusted that they couldn't even concentrate for more than a few minutes on the mission. No wonder they were failing so often. She supposed she couldn't blame them for how their attention wandered, but this was the kind of stuff she had put up with for three endless, mind numbing, frustrating weeks. She just wanted this assignment to end. She began fantasizing about how she could ensure that Tommy suffered his own "accident" during tonight's mission. It would be no great loss.

She reached out and grabbed Tommy's slack arm, trailing her fingers slowly down it until they could rest on the controller in his hand. She locked her eyes with his and lightly bit down on her bottom lip. At this point, she probably could have convinced Tommy to drop to the ground and bark like a dog if it meant she would continue to touch him or look at him, but she didn't want to take the remote control from him, she wanted him to give it to her willingly. After only a few seconds of solid eye contact, his fingers relaxed and he placed the controller into her own waiting palm. She smiled brightly at him and spun around on her heel to face the room.

The smile instantly disappeared as she now faced the assembled planning staff for the mission. Glacial coldness descended into her eyes and she pressed her lips together into a very grim smile as she watched the man two seats down shiver and turn away. She made a big show of lifting the controller high into the air so that all could see it before she dropped it to the ground and stomped on it. The cracking sound it made as her stiletto grinded the controller into hundreds of little pieces was louder than any gunshot would have been.

The destruction of his little controller was enough to snap Tommy out of his daze. "What the hell are you doing?!"

She rolled her eyes and dismissed him with a wave of her hand like she would shoo away a fly. "Making a point."

"And what kind of point is that?"

"Simple," she said with contempt. "You were wrong about Bakersfield and you were wrong about San Leandro. Frankly, the fact that you believe tonight's op will go off without a hitch leads me to believe that the exact opposite will happen." She angled her body to face both the television monitor and the table. "How long have you had the facility under surveillance? A week?"

"Yes," he growled, and looked constipated.

She almost giggled at the expression on his face. It was like he was confused about how he should feel. Should he be curious about where she was going with her line of questioning or should he be pissed that she was embarrassing him in front of his subordinates? This was the most fun she'd had since she started this damn assignment.

He added hastily, "We've noticed no change in their security personnel, protocols, or sweep patterns." His voice gained in volume and indignation. "We haven't even seen any indication that they suspect they're under surveillance."

She arched one of her sculpted eyebrows. "I spotted the surveillance teams."

Tommy threw his hands up into the air and groaned. "You knew they were there! It's easy to spot them when you're purposefully looking for them."

"And you don't think they'll be actively looking for people like us?"

"I have tactical command here, Walker. You're just an observer."

She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. She hadn't really expected anything to come of her little diversion, because as much as it annoyed her, Tommy was right. He had tactical command of the operation. She could advise and suggest, but any actual decisions fell under his authority. She could only assume command if she viewed it as necessary to preserving the continuation and protection of vital Fulcrum assets. Tommy creating a shoddy ops plan wasn't really a clear and present danger to Fulcrum's interests on the West Coast. At least not until the mission went pear shaped, as she knew it inevitably would; then she could finally do what was necessary to make this branch run competently. It was why, for the first time since she arrived, she was going on a mission personally. If things went bad, she wanted to be there.

"And I'll be observing your performance tonight."

She smirked as some of the faces around the room paled, but Tommy simply glared at her in defiance. She looked at every single individual in the room, spending at least a few seconds staring at each face, until they all understood her unspoken threat.

Satisfied that she had sufficiently pulled all the attention away from Tommy and onto herself, and made clear just who had the real power and authority in the room, she said, "I'm sorry for interrupting. You may continue on."

# # # # #

She was only paying partial attention to the com chatter bouncing around inside her ear. There was something about the west side of the building that seemed suspicious to her. She thought she saw movement on the cameras, but didn't think it could be. Tommy's plan had called for breaching points north and south, not west. And the two perimeter guards had already been neutralized so it couldn't be a guard patrol. Maybe she was just seeing things.

She leaned back in her chair until her feet were hanging off the ground. Staying in the van sucked. It was boring and stuffy and it could get unbearably hot once all the equipment powered up and started running at full capacity. This was not where she belonged. She should be out there, with the assault teams, doing what she did best. Putting her in the van was akin to tying one hand behind your back and then blindfolding and gagging yourself. She needed the rush, needed to hear the bullets snapping past her head, needed to feel the shiver of adrenaline overloading her system right before combat began, needed to know that at least something out there still made her feel alive.

She looked to either side of herself at the two analysts they had brought along and hummed contemplatively. She wasn't really needed in the van. After all, she was only supposed to be observing things so if something went wrong, what could she do? There was a lot she could do, actually, if things really did go wrong, but that was beside the point. Besides, she didn't understand how the majority of the equipment in the van even worked. Yeah, it would be no great loss for her to just step outside and maybe get a closer look at how the mission was progressing. Nobody could hold it against her.

She keyed her radio mic, "Frost is going extravehicular. Proceeding on foot toward west side of facility. Investigating suspicious activity. Hold fire."

Somehow, she was still not sure how, she had long ago acquired the nickname of Emma Frost. She believed that one of the many unnamed analysts she'd interacted with over the years had bestowed upon her the slightly dubious moniker. Probably some overly nervous, sallow faced nerd who was simultaneously scared shitless by her but also viewed her as the embodiment of his wet dreams. After hearing the name whispered behind her back countless times and after trying to ignore the many side comments about how similar they looked, she had finally broken down and gone onto the Internet to find out as much about Emma Frost as she could. The resemblance had been rather uncanny, although her breasts were nowhere near that big, and she had found herself relating to the woman's broken and dysfunctional childhood and family. Plus, she suspected, her reputation as a bit of an ice cold bitch probably helped in cementing the name around her neck. Now she embraced the name and used it whenever on the job.

Tommy's angry whisper burst onto the radio. "Negative, Frost! Negative on the foot patrol. Stay in the van!"

She started to fiddle with her radio. "What was that, Alpha-One? I couldn't hear you. There seems to be a problem with my radio."

She grinned and then turned a stern eye to the two men keeping her company. They were very obviously keeping their eyes glued to the screens in front of them. "Now boys, who of you is responsible for keeping communications gear in order?"

Tentatively, the one on the right raised his hand. He still maintained his stare on his equipment, probably too afraid to actually face her.

"You should be ashamed of yourself, letting my gear devolve into such disrepair. What would happen if somebody needed to contact me? What would I do?"

The analyst finally turned around to look helplessly at her. There was quite a bit of fear in his eyes and she briefly felt bad for the man, but that emotion quickly died. There was no place in life for pity. "Um…uh…I don't know what to say, ma'am. I'm sorry?"

She grabbed hold of the side door and prepared to slide it open. She looked over her shoulder and gave the young man a mock glare. "And you should be sorry! In fact, I expect you to immediately report to Alpha-One just how sorry you are and that you hope to have my com gear all fixed as soon as you can. Unfortunately, until you do get it fixed, I'm going to be unreachable." She shrugged her shoulders like things were beyond her control and then crinkled her eyes in amusement. She yanked the door back and stepped out into the cool night. She shut the door behind her and started to make her way carefully toward the west side of the building complex.

This was probably not a smart idea but she didn't care. She wanted some action, anything. She was willing to even settle for scouting a potential dead end as long as it got her out of the van.

So far, they had run into very little resistance. The two perimeter guards had been the only contact they'd had with the facility's personnel since the assault began. The lack of resistance bothered her, but Tommy had shown no indication that he was concerned before she had left the van and she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was entirely possible that Tommy had been right about tonight. It wasn't very likely, but it was possible.

She walked carefully toward her destination, doing her best to appear as invisible as possible.

# # # # #

It was times like this where her mind wandered and she thought of the weirdest things, like how sometimes she really hated having blonde hair. It was so much easier to blend into the background when your hair color was the same color as the area around you. With the moon almost full and low on the horizon, it was uncomfortably bright outside. The light made it easy to see the five men in full body armor and tactical gear huddled in a narrow ditch 25 feet west of her position. She was not sure who they were but she knew they were not Fulcrum personnel. Which really only meant one thing.

If it was absolutely necessary she could take them. She'd probably not come out of the encounter unscathed, but as long as she had the element of surprise, she could do it. If only there were four of them…then she wouldn't even think about it.

She slowly crept along the edge of the building, to see if she could get closer to them. They were clearly waiting for something, probably the go code to launch their counterattack on the Fulcrum forces inside the facility. Why they had waited this long, she didn't know, but she wanted as much information about the size of their force, their disposition, and how much they knew before she made her move. She should probably warn everyone else as well.

She hesitated.

Did she really want to do that? It took her only a few seconds to decide. Yes, she did. It was not out of any loyalty or fear for the wellbeing of her teammates, but simple self-interest. Proving to be the only operative on-site competent enough to spot the ambush would only increase her standing amongst the Fulcrum elite. She would become even more their favored child, get sent on even more valuable missions, and most importantly, get taken further into their confidence. Preventing tonight from turning into a total disaster would only show her value.

She was about to key up her mic when the five men suddenly started moving. She watched them stay low to the ground, maintaining a well-spaced, single column formation, weapons at the ready, moving so silently that she wouldn't even have known they were there if she hadn't known where to look. They were good; much better than the average Fulcrum personnel she dealt with on a daily basis. No wonder Tommy had been getting his ass kicked if this was the caliber of opposition he had been facing.

The five men were heading toward three figures approaching from the south. They too were clad in black and they blended well into the night. Instinct told her these three were important, and she started to duck in and out of the shadows in an attempt to get closer, all thought of warning her fellows forgotten. She had slipped into the tunnel vision she often fell into while on mission and she couldn't stop her single-minded focus until she had completed her objective. Possibly discovering the identities of the people responsible for thwarting so many of Fulcrum's West Coast operations, as well as discovering just how they had known about Fulcrum's attack in the first place, would be far more valuable than saving the lives of easily replaceable agents. There was no way she was going to attack now. And if she could somehow get one of them alone… She shivered at the rush of anticipation that shot through her at that thought.

This was as close as she dared. She could just make out the faint voice of one of the three carrying on the wind. "They've just breached first floor security now."

One of the five men stood up a little straighter than the rest and addressed the person who had spoken. "My men are in place and ready to go as soon as you give the order, sir."

The tallest of the three growled, "Consider it given."

The leader of the tactical team raised a hand to his shoulder where he activated his radio. "Aegis-One to all Aegis teams, execute."

Almost instantly she could hear the sound of gunfire break out in the distance. Her radio burst alive with excited chatter and she winced as bone jarring automatic weapons fire assaulted her ear canal. She had to fight the nearly overwhelming urge to rip the earbud out of her ear just so she could concentrate. She couldn't isolate herself that way; she'd need to be able to hear what was going on if she was going to make it out of this situation unseen and unhurt.

Over the radio she could hear Tommy's panicked voice yell desperately, "Alpha-One to all Alpha teams, abort." There was more gunfire and then a grunt of pain. When Tommy's voice came back it was incredibly strained and weak. "Abort, goddamn it! All teams abort. It's a trap!"

She wrote Tommy off at that point and activated her own radio to issue the recall order. "Frost to all Alpha teams, proceed to emergency egress points. Do not, I repeat, do not head back to the store, the parking lot may be full." Her voice was level, flat, perfectly composed. She had been in a lot worse situations than this; she saw no reason to get excited over what was happening. At least she could maintain her professionalism. Tommy got nothing more than what he deserved, she thought with grim satisfaction.

She smiled at the realization that he was finally, finally no longer a thorn in her side.

# # # # #

She realized she had made a mistake a second too late.

She had been carefully shadowing the three unidentified individuals from earlier. They were all wearing balaclava that obscured their faces and the body armor they wore made identifying the sex of the three difficult. Still, after following them for so long she was starting to get a feel for who these people were.

It was clear now that they were the lead agents on-scene; especially the giant, the one that constantly growled like an underfed dog. He was always barking orders into his radio or making snide comments to the man next to him.

At least she was fairly confident that he was a man. About five inches shorter than the junkyard dog, he moved with a fluid grace that intrigued her and made her cautious. Something told her that the shorter man was the more dangerous of the two in hand-to-hand combat. When she made her move, he would have to be the one she disabled first.

The third person was a woman. This she was positive about; the voice had been a dead giveaway. She had not quite figured out what the woman's purpose was, but she suspected that she was an intermediary of some sort. The way she constantly cocked her head to the side, like she was listening to someone, and the way she would seemingly talk to herself, led her to believe that someone was feeding her information, which she would then relay to the two men. That was the one she wanted. The woman could give her whoever was on the other end of her radio.

When the three were facing the building, atop a small hill that overlooked part of the parking lot as well as the west side of the facility, she slipped behind them so that she was hiding in a drainage ditch no more than ten feet from them. The ground at her feet was wet, probably a result of sprinklers that had been on earlier, and smelled of manure and the sharp tang of fertilizer.

A flash of memory overcame her at the smell. She remembered her time in Wisconsin, and Fitzgerald Luxury Landscapes. Her father had created a dummy landscaping company, from which he had managed to talk himself into several contracting jobs for very wealthy clients. He had promised them the best in custom designed landscapes; only the best for those of incredibly discerning tastes.

She remembered staying up late into the night, helping her father design business cards, draw up contracting plans, forge business licenses, write bid proposals, and pick out a menagerie of plants and flowers to make everything look legit. It had been during that job where she had discovered her love of gardenias.

Her father had come into the dingy apartment they were renting out of the back of some guy's house that her father had met one night at dinner their first night in town. His hands were behind his back and he had a coy smile on his face. He stood in front of her, waiting for her to acknowledge him. She didn't. She kept her head down, eyes glued to the paper in front of her, as she doodled on some paper a flowerbed design she was thinking of showing him later. She had to bite down on her lower lip to stop herself from giggling as her daddy went from patient to put out and annoyed in very little time.

"Darlin'?" he asked, clearly wanting her to look at him.

She couldn't stop a little giggle from escaping, but she made sure not to look at him.

"Darlin'?" he asked again, a little bit more annoyed. "I got something for you."

She remembered him sounding so excited and proud of himself, like a little boy that had just found a lizard under a rock in the backyard and wanted to show his mother, that she had finally looked up at him and given him her full attention. Excitedly, she asked, "What is it?"

From behind his back he pulled out a red clay pot with a single white gardenia. He held it out to her with a big smile on his face. "Here you go, darlin'."

She remembered taking the flower with awe on her face, her eyes wide. She had seen a lot of flowers since they had started this job, but this was the first one her daddy had ever specifically said was for her. She tentatively touched the flower's petals, afraid that if she wasn't careful, it would disappear like everything else she had ever loved.

"I just saw it and it reminded me of you, darlin'. It reminded me of your smile," her daddy said.

From that day on, she had always loved gardenias, because they reminded her of one of the few times her father had _given_ her something instead of taking something away.

"Thank you, daddy," she had said solemnly, a little smile on her face.

Her father had patted her on the head and said, "You're my best work, darlin'. My best work."

She had never understood what he meant by that until he had said it again on the last day she ever saw him. It was like he had known what was going to happen to him, and knowing her father, he probably had. He had given her a hug, something he rarely did, kissed her forehead and said, "My best work. The best con I ever pulled."

She had pulled back to look at his face, more than a little disturbed and confused by his odd behavior. "Daddy?"

"People see you and they think I done good, when really I had nothing to do with you turning into the young woman you are." He pulled back into his embrace, and squeezed hard. "You are who you are despite me and…" he had stopped there and never said anything more.

He left soon after and that was the last time she ever saw him.

She snapped out of her memories with the sound of uncomfortably close gunfire. The three people were still atop the hill and were talking animatedly amongst themselves. Apparently, their counterattack was going well and they would soon have everything under control.

She knew her window for attacking was rapidly drawing to a close, so she eased the knife at her belt out of its sheath and into her hand. A gun would attract attention, and besides, she had always felt more comfortable with a knife in her hand than anything else. She angled her body toward the shorter man, planning to stab upwards, under the bottom edge of his Kevlar vest, hopefully puncturing his kidney as well as severing his spine. If she pulled the maneuver off correctly, she figured she could withdraw the knife, spin to her left and stab the giant in the back of the neck, killing him instantly, before he even knew what had happened to the first man. The woman would probably be a problem as by that point she would have had enough time to react, but she would have to play that by ear anyway. She needed the woman alive long enough to give up what she knew.

She started up the hill, carefully placing each foot so as to not make a sound or lose her footing.

That was when she made her mistake.

She was about halfway up the hill when she put her foot down on what initially felt like solid dirt. As she put her full weight into the step, she realized that her initial impression was wrong, and she had actually stepped onto a rock, not dirt. The pressure from her foot caused the rock to dislodge from the hill and slide downward. She lost her balance and fell forward onto her knee, a little burst of air escaping from her mouth. Under normal circumstances, she might have been able to get away with such a mistake, but these were not normal circumstances.

All three agents turned around to look down the hill at once. The taller man growled a curse and the shorter man instantly sprung into action. He was already down the hill and beside her, wrenching her arms behind her, a knee on her back and pressing her face into the ground before she could even straighten up.

She bucked up as hard as she could, and it was enough to get her legs under her. With as much strength as she could muster, she pushed up, away from the hill, and both she and the man holding her fell backwards. She landed on top of him, and heard the air explode from his lungs on impact. She instantly elbowed him as hard as she could in the side and his hold loosened enough for her to wrench herself completely free.

Unfortunately, at this point both the woman and other man were ready to join the fight. The woman blindsided her with a hard kick to the stomach and she heard a popping sound as intense pain rocketed up and down her torso. The taller man followed up the woman's kick with a quick jab to the same place the woman had kicked her and she lost the ability to breathe. She fell to her knees and the woman kicked her again, this time her booted foot impacting solidly with her right cheek. Again she heard a cracking sound as blood gushed from her nose and mouth.

She moaned in pain and the taller man dug his hand into her hair and pulled upward, forcing her to stand. He yanked her right arm so harshly behind her back that it popped out of its socket and this time tears started running down her cheeks. The man held her solidly against his chest, and placed his forearm against her throat. She struggled like a cornered cat, her legs and free arm flying backwards as hard as she could, but she lacked the leverage to land any significant impact and she eventually became too winded to fight.

By this time, the shorter man had gotten his wind back and was standing up, facing her. She could see his startling blue eyes staring at her hard and unflinching. They widened slightly and he said, "I know you."

The voice was somewhat familiar but she couldn't place it. She spat a mouthful of blood onto his chest and sneered in contempt, "You'll forgive me if I don't remember every asshole I've come across in my life."

Blue eyes just ignored her and repeated himself. "Yeah, I know you." He shifted his head to look at the man holding her. "She's Sarah Walker."

The arm against her throat instantly pressed closer as the man holding her had a visceral reaction to the name. It was like a steel bar digging into her trachea and she found herself gagging and coughing. Her vision started going black and she renewed her struggle, but even though she could feel the panic of suffocation setting in, she couldn't loosen the giant's hold on her. "What did you say her name was?"

"Sarah Walker. I'd remember her face anywhere. We used to be partners."

Oh. So that's why his voice sounded familiar. She still didn't know who he was but at least she knew she hadn't been imagining things.

Blue eyes's confirmation of her identity only made the giant madder. "I'm going to kill her." He started to make good on his threat. She probably only had about 20 more seconds before she lost consciousness.

The woman put a restraining arm on giant's shoulder and said, "Casey, stop. Chuck says she's important."

"The blonde bitch killed my partner." She had killed a lot of partners in her life, what made this guy think his was so special? "She killed Forrest!" giant said with even more vehemence.

Ten seconds.

"Damn it, Casey, Chuck says she's upper management. Stop!"

Five seconds.

With a furious growl, giant pulled his arm away from her throat and threw her roughly to the ground. Before she could even move, he pulled out a gun.

Well, at least she wouldn't suffocate.

She felt a sharp prick at her neck and, in the few seconds she had left before she began to sleep, she smelled the wet ground and thought of her father's smiling face as he handed her a single white gardenia.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _Interludes and Intercessions_ - Something happens to change the relationship between Chuck and Sarah forever.


	5. Interludes and Intercessions

**Author's Note:** Again, wow guys. You've all been great. Thank you for all the very varied reviews you've been giving me. I've seen a lot of responses about Sarah being a badass and evil and all sorts of other terms and I just wanna say I kinda disagree with that viewpoint. But then I'm the writer and I know more than you, so I guess I'm biased. She is broken, though, and that's the main point I want to get across (but then I happen to think the Sarah as depicted on the show is pretty broken too).

This chapter was hard to write. The original rough draft was only about 2500 words and as you can see, it's not 2500 words anymore. I wanted to break it up into two parts but then you wouldn't get your Charah interaction in this chapter and I think people would have been disappointed about that. Anyway, enjoy!

Oh, I guess I should warn you guys that this chapter is a tad bit more adult than previous chapters. You'll understand when you read it.

* * *

She was not alone the first time she woke up in her hole.

There was a tall man standing in front of her, hands behind his back. After a few disorienting seconds of waiting for the after effects of the tranquilizer dart she'd been shot with to wear off, she recognized him as the giant she'd fought outside Aegis Securities.

Her entire body screamed at her, detailing its many complaints with how it had been treated. She sympathized and wished she could comfort her aching bones, but the only thought she allowed herself to have was that the pain she felt now was only a small sample of what she would be feeling soon in the future.

She was sitting on a chair, her hands tied behind her back with what felt like a zip tie. The pain from her right arm being held at such an uncomfortable angle was excruciating. She desperately wanted to pop her arm back into its socket but couldn't move. Breathing was like trying to suck up the last bit of water in a glass, sometimes she got air, sometimes her lungs just burned. Her cracked ribs certainly didn't help and inhaling through her nose was basically having a thousand needles poked into her face.

Her feet were tied to the two front legs of the chair. She tried rocking the chair to see how much freedom of movement there was but discovered that it was bolted to the ground and could only move an inch or two in any direction. The room was dark and cold and smelled of human sweat and sickness. She'd been in worse interrogation rooms.

She stared at the man standing patiently in front of her and tentatively worked her jaw to see if she could speak. It was incredibly stiff and any movement sent pain signals directly into her brain, but she was fairly certain the woman's foot had not broken her jaw. Her nose did not feel so lucky.

Her mouth was dry and tasted awful, metallic and bitter, and her tongue stung every time she brushed it against her teeth. She must have bitten down on it at some point during the fight but she didn't remember when that might have been. She didn't remember a lot of what had happened however many hours ago. She wasn't sure if that was due to the trauma she'd sustained or the tranquilizer, but either way she was concerned.

She would need all her wits about her to make it through the coming ordeal. If giant's anger during their fight was any indication, he was not about to go easy on her during his interrogation. She knew how this worked. It wasn't the first time she'd been captured and forcefully coerced into giving up information. She had resisted during those previous times and she would resist now. She doubted there was anything this man could do to her that she had not already done herself.

She just had to remember not to let him get to her. No matter what he did, what he said, she had to act like it was nothing. She had to be a wall, mute and unmovable.

"Hello," giant said. His voice was deep and steady. His square jaw jutted out at her slightly as he rubbed a hand across his chin. This was probably his attempt at deep concentration. He looked supremely calm and focused, like this was where he belonged. As she watched the bulging muscles in his forearms flex as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, this probably _was_ where he belonged. She remembered how his forearm pressing against her throat had felt. He was very strong. She had dealt with strong men before. She would not be afraid. He was a man that relied on brute strength and intimidation to enforce his will and the kind of interrogation that people in her line of work dealt with was nothing if not an exercise in brutality. She would not be afraid.

She did not respond to his greeting, but then, she doubted he expected her to. It would be best if she established an unwillingness to talk now. That way, if she did say something in the future, it would look like they were accomplishing something.

"My superiors have insisted that I extend to you the opportunity to make this whole process as painless as possible and allow you to talk before any unpleasantness happens." He smiled a cruel, pitiless smile. "But you and I both know that is not going to happen. Personally, I'm rather grateful of that fact as I fully intend to enjoy our time together."

She snorted in contempt and realized too late what such an action would do to her damaged nasal cavity. She moaned in sudden pain and shut her eyes to compose herself. When she opened them, giant was smirking at her.

"Hurts doesn't it?"

She just stared at him.

"Even I had to admit that was a good shot she got in. I was kinda jealous actually." He cocked his head at an angle as he peered down at her. "But that's okay because I'm sure I'll get my chance to do her one even better."

She continued to stare, darting her tongue out to try and moisten her lips. Her throat was unreasonably dry and she felt dehydrated. How long had she been unconscious? She didn't care what he did to her.

He walked up to her and grabbed her damaged shoulder with one of his massive paws. His fingers curled around the curve of her shoulder and dug into her flesh. She sucked in a harsh breath, gritting her teeth together and closing her eyes. She did not make a sound; she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

He leaned close to her head and said into her ear conversationally, "Forrest was the best partner I ever had. She was a friend." If it was possible, he squeezed harder and tears started to pool in her eyes. "I don't have many friends. You know how it is. People in our line of work can't afford friends. But she was mine and you cut her throat." Then giant grabbed the back of her hands and roughly pulled upward. She could feel as well as hear her dislocated shoulder move further out of place. She couldn't help the whimper that escaped but at least she didn't scream. "When this is all over, I will kill you. I promise you that."

He pulled as high as her arms would go and held them almost above her head for what seemed like an eternity before he finally, mercifully, let her arms fall back down to a more natural position. He stepped away and the cruel smile was back on his face.

She sucked in big gulps of air and rasped, "So are we finally going to start or what?"

He chuckled and started to walk away. Before he opened the door and left, he turned back and gave her a macabre clown smile. "I'm not going to beat you, Walker. At least not much. Physical torture is so often…unreliable. Don't worry though, we have a few surprises in store for you."

Then he shut off the lights and left.

# # # # #

The second time she woke in her hole, things were a little different.

She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep, but she wasn't surprised. After the amount of damage her body had sustained, it was only natural for it to want to rest as much as possible. Unfortunately, falling asleep while in the hands of an enemy was not always a smart thing. This she was discovering to her detriment as she gradually woke up.

The first thing she noticed was that she was no longer sitting down. Her chair had been replaced by a hook in the ceiling and over the hook hung her bound hands. As she became more and more awake, she felt more and more pain. Her feet were hanging off the ground by at least two inches and all her weight was now pulling on her wrists. Again her right arm was screaming at her. If she didn't get it fixed soon it might be permanently damaged. The zip ties dug into the flesh of her wrists like knives and even in the dim light she could see the blood and bruising caused by her position.

The second thing she noticed was that she was again not alone. Only it looked like Blue eyes had replaced giant as her current interrogator. She hoped this meant that the next time she awoke, the woman would be there. She had still not given up on her plan of figuring out what the woman knew. It would be nice, when she eventually escaped, to have something to show for her trouble. And she would escape, she was sure of that. These people would make a mistake eventually and when they did, she would exploit it.

Blue eyes was a beautiful man, now that she was finally able to get a look at him, all sleek, refined angles and well proportioned muscles. His face leapt out to her as the face of a man who knew what he was and she knew right then that he was her, her equivalent, her opposite. His cool, calculating eyes told her that he believed he could seduce any woman, and he was probably right. Whereas giant was all brutality, Blue eyes seemed all finesse and she took some solace in the confirmation that her instincts had probably been right about him. He was the more dangerous of the two men.

Any movement sent her gently spinning in a circle and she had to contort her body to maintain her stare on the man. She spoke first, "Well, you're definitely prettier than the last guy." Since Blue eyes had previous history with her, she figured he was probably her best bet at establishing some kind of connection with her captors. If she could manipulate one of them, she might be able to get free.

He ignored her comment and said, "I knew you once."

"You didn't know me," she said scornfully. "You only knew what I wanted to show you." She only wished she recognized the man's face because she _still_ didn't know exactly who this guy was. All she had to go on was that they had apparently been partners before. She should have remembered a man like Blue eyes, but she had tried hard to forget much of her life while with the CIA.

He shrugged his shoulders and walked a little closer to her. "That's probably true. You were always good at hiding who you were."

"Years of practice."

He moved closer again, like somehow moving closer would give him some better understanding of who she was. "I always found you so interesting. I mean, I knew better than to ever push, because that's just not what people like us do, but there was a part of me that was always curious. There was a part that always wanted to know more."

She tried to laugh but only made herself wheeze in pain. "You just wanted in my pants. It's okay, you can admit it."

He smiled slightly but his eyes stayed flat. He was so cold and serious he made her look positively wholesome and inviting. He did have a nice smile though. In another time, another place, he was the kind of man she would have liked to get to know better. "I think most men would admit to that," he said.

It was sloppy to leave her feet unbound. If he moved just a little bit closer… She had to come up with some reason to get him closer. "Well, I mean, nothing's stopping you now." It was hard to pull off come-hither eyes and pouty lips when your face and mouth were pasted with dried blood and your skin probably had more in common with an Escher painting than porcelain skin, but she tried her best.

Maybe if she could entice him close enough, she could incapacitate him and figure some way out of her hole. Or if he was desperate enough to actually take her up on her offer—he wouldn't be the first man she had managed to seduce while in similar straits—then maybe she could get him to free her hands. She'd be willing to do just about anything if it meant getting free. Then an explosion of memory went off in her head and she remembered. "I remember you now. You're Bryce Larkin." Her eyes widened slightly. Bryce Larkin was rumored to have some connection to the Intersect project. Could she have been wrong and it really did exist? All thoughts of grabbing the woman left her mind. Larkin might actually be the one she wanted.

"We were partnered for three months. You were my first partner."

"I must have made one hell of an impression on you."

If his ego was bruised that she didn't remember him as well as he remembered her, he gave no indication of it. He was remarkably adept at keeping all of his emotions tightly controlled. His associate had been bristling with so much anger and hate that she could almost feel it coming off of him like heat waves. Larkin was the exact opposite, so calm and cold that she felt little more than a science experiment waiting to be dissected. His dispassion was harder to handle than giant's anger, but she'd dealt with his kind before.

"You did, which is why I volunteered to begin your first session."

"My first session of what?"

From out of nowhere, a syringe appeared in Larkin's hand. She immediately tried to swing her body away, but it seemed that his moving closer had had a purpose after all. He had moved close enough so that he could grab her body and hold her still before she got up enough momentum to become an attacking pendulum. He stuck her in her arm with the needle and her struggling gradually stopped.

Her eyes started to droop and her vision blurred. Her body relaxed and she couldn't even feel the pain anymore. Larkin was looking at her intently and she tried to frown. "I'm trained to resist truth serum," she slurred.

"I know, and I have no interest in learning about Fulcrum at this time," he said. "I want you to tell me everything there is to know about Sarah Walker aka Jenny Burton aka Katie O'Connell aka Rebecca Franco." Even through the syrupy haze surrounding her mind, she knew that Larkin was just showing off by reciting her aliases. "First, let's begin with your childhood," he said.

# # # # #

The third time she woke up, giant was back. She was starting to sense a pattern.

He kept to his word.

He beat her, but never anything permanent. He didn't use knives or electricity or clubs or fire. He used nothing that would disfigure her or irreparably break something or screw up her internal organs too badly. Only his fists.

It was always a hard jab to the stomach, on the side opposite her broken ribs, or a kick to her thighs, or harsh slap to her face. After the first few sessions, she got to know him pretty well. He liked the tactile feel of flesh against flesh. He was not a man that disliked getting his hands dirty; on more than one occasion she'd seen him rub his bloodied knuckles like some kind of treasure. He really did appear to hate her. Personal interrogations were always the worst; the people involved always went the extra mile in breaking you because they had so much of themselves invested in it. She knew that he would not stop until she told him what he wanted to know. In fact, he'd probably be perfectly happy if it took him weeks to get the information from her.

If he broke a finger or toe or cracked a rib, so what? She had others and besides, those could be fixed. He would just move to a different area of her body and work on her there. The one upside to the ordeal was that during one of their sessions, he popped her right shoulder back into place for her. It was some of the worst pain she'd ever felt in her life, especially since he gave her no warning about what he was going to do, and he cackled like a hyena. It was like a game with him, how much pain could he inflict without doing serious damage? She never knew how exhausting and overwhelming all the little stuff could be until it felt like every single part of her body was throbbing with pain. It was an oppressive hum, surrounding her, pressing down on her, drowning her. Death by a thousand cuts.

He liked pushing her back and forth while she hung from the hook like a tether ball. The helplessness she felt as she swayed through the air, unable to stop him, unable to stop the plastic from digging into her wrists, was worse than just about anything else he did to her. She was not a plaything. She would not give in.

He didn't ask questions, at least not real ones. He asked ones that she was sure he didn't really expect her to answer like: Where is Fulcrum's North American headquarters? And who are the seven Fulcrum Elders? Or what are the security protocols to gain access to any Fulcrum installation. Or what was your role in the organization? Each question interspersed by a hard punch that made her see stars and forget where she was or what was going on. Questions weren't his purpose. She figured that out for herself fairly quickly. He was there to batter and bruise her body, and nothing more. He mostly just ranted to her about his dead partner. She remembered Forrest now: blonde, beautiful, bit of a bitch. She seemed just like the kind of person giant would consider a friend: cold, brutal, and uncomplicated. She suspected, from the way that he just…wouldn't…let it…go, that at least at some point, they had been more than just friends. She had no idea why he was taking it so personal otherwise.

He would leave after what felt like days, but was probably only an hour.

She was always disappointed that it hadn't been the woman.

# # # # #

The days blended into one another after that.

They liked to mix things up.

It was an odd mix of psychological and physical torture. She hated the psych job most of all.

Sometimes she would be sitting down on a chair, sometimes she would be hanging. If she were hanging, it usually meant giant. After the first time she had woken up hanging like a slab of beef in a freezer, Larkin only came when she was in the chair. Some days they would give her water, some days food, never both at the same time. They did not often give her drugs—and when they did, they were very different from the truth serum drugs Larkin gave her—but when they did, they would pump her full of so many chemicals that she often forgot her own name. She would only remember that she had entire conversations with her father, asking him why he left her, why he lived the life he had, why he made her part of his cons. The conversations seemed so real, and she would always find herself crying at the end of them. She really got confused when that happened.

She didn't think they asked her questions about Fulcrum then, but she couldn't be sure. Her drugged out stupors were so like the times Larkin came to interrogate her. She was starting to think that's why she imagined her father in her hole with her. Larkin's questions dredged all her daddy issues to the surface. That infuriated her. They had no right to ask about her father. It was their fault that he was gone. They had killed him.

Sometimes they would let her sleep. Most days they didn't. They would strap her into a different chair than the plain one she usually occupied. This one was special. For this one she was completely immobilized, her hands secured to the armrests, her legs unable to move, and attached to some kind of medieval torture device that forced her eyes open. Then they would turn the lights on so bright that the room seemed white and leave her like that for hours. Her eyes always burned afterward and her resolve weakened. The sleep deprivation was worse than everything else they did to her. She could barely think straight, even when not drugged, she could feel her health rapidly dwindling, and her control on her sanity continued to lessen, to the point where sometimes she couldn't even recall why all this was happening to her to begin with.

And through it all, they never stopped asking her questions. She never gave them an answer, or at least she didn't think so. She wasn't sure why she held so steadfast to an organization that she hated. Figuring out why required a level of critical thinking far beyond her capabilities most of the time. She wished she could explain it, but none of the meager answers her addled mind could come up with could explain why she refused to give up something she had no respect for. She didn't know, couldn't answer, wasn't even sure she wanted to. It was probably because Fulcrum was the last thing she had to hold onto in her life. If she gave them up, she'd have nothing left to live for. She might as well be dead. They gave her a purpose, even if it was a wrong one. They let her do what she was born to do, the only thing she knew how to do, without much in the way of judgment or condition. It was pretty much the only thing she cared about at this point in her life. It was not in her nature to surrender that which she held dear without a fight.

After a while she just stopped talking altogether.

Eventually they took the last bit of dignity she had left in the world when they stripped her of her clothes. That had been when she started to accept that she would probably never see the light of day again.

It was the same thing for days, weeks, maybe even months. She couldn't tell time in her hole.

And then she met Him and everything changed.

* * *

She awoke sweating, her hands clenched her bed sheets tightly and she was nearly hyperventilating. She did not often have nightmares of the unpleasant times before Chuck, but occasionally she would slip into a restless sleep, and dream of everything that had happened before. She would probably have these kinds of nightmares for years to come. She tried not to dwell on her nightmare or the future; such things were an occupational hazard.

Things were better now. Chuck had rescued her from her hole. She wouldn't have to go through that again as long as she cooperated. It went against the grain to do so, but if it meant avoiding a repeat of before, she would do what was necessary to make that happen. She could admit that Chuck had gotten to her. She was almost ready to tell him what she knew. She had something to care about now other than her job.

She sat up in bed and looked about her cell. Pale moonlight filtered into the room, letting her know that it was still early morning. They didn't let her have a clock so she didn't know what time it was, but it was probably hours until sunrise. She collapsed backwards until she was again lying down and spluttered her lips in frustration; hair that had gotten loose during her tossing and turning fluttered in front of her face. She didn't think she would be able to get back to sleep, not after her dream, and it would be hours before she got to see Chuck.

She was going to be bored and she hated being bored, because being bored meant she had nothing to do but think. Thinking was the last thing she wanted to do in her situation. If she got to thinking, she might start examining what events in her life had transpired to allow her to end up where she was. She would start thinking of all her mistakes and how somebody like Chuck—or anyone else—could never care about someone like her. None of that sounded pleasant at all.

She sighed and turned onto her left side, facing the window. She hadn't been outside since she had that wonderful lunch with Chuck over two weeks ago. She had been so stupid. She had messed that up like she screwed up everything else in her life. She'd been petulant and ungrateful and she had been beating herself up over it every day since.

She had tried apologizing, which had been humiliating and literally physically painful. It was ridiculous. She was the prisoner, she was the one that had been tortured and abused, she was the one they had stripped naked and left in a dank, dark hole for their own amusement and yet she was the one _apologizing_ to him? The agent side of her, the professional wrapped around her core, had berated and condemned her actions as the result of a weak and pathetic girl. But the part of her that still clung to her humanity, that still longed to be just a normal woman, had demanded she do anything, say anything to make another trip outside, with Chuck by her side, possible. But Chuck wouldn't let her apologize, said it wasn't necessary, and then ignored her entreaties for another chance.

It depressed the hell out of her.

She hadn't been happy since. Not that she had been all that happy before, but at least things hadn't seemed so bad. Not anymore. Now she hated her captivity even more, because Chuck seemed distant and uninterested in her. She hated to admit it, but that was the real source of her depression. He didn't smile as much, didn't talk with her as long, didn't seem to care that her mood had progressively worsened as he spent less and less time with her.

She was pathetic.

A disgrace.

Weak.

Her cell door opened and three men walked in.

She immediately went lax, feigning sleep, as she watched their movements with barely open eyes. Was this it? Had he finally gotten fed up with her lack of cooperation and decided he no longer wanted to deal with her? She wouldn't blame him if he had.

One stood in front of the still open doorway, murky yellow light giving the man an ominous silhouette. The other two men spread out, slowly, quietly, coming at her bed from either side. It was always three with them, never anything less. She'd normally appreciate their respect for her skills, but in situations like this, it was really rather inconvenient.

When the two men were halfway, she let out a long moan and rolled onto her back, rolling her hips slightly and speeding up her breathing. She threw in a breathy groan of Chuck's name for good measure. It was about time her dreams about Chuck finally paid off for her. The two men immediately hesitated, either because she was suddenly moving or because they were intrigued by her display and that gave her the opportunity she needed.

With her arms up above her head, like she was trying to grab onto an imaginary headboard, she grabbed her pillow instead. She waited until the two men started to move again before she sat straight up, her pillow flying like a bullet toward the first man on her left. It took him straight in the face, as she had intended, and he grunted in surprise. She flung her covers aside and dove straight at the man's legs. She hit his upper thighs and both went toppling to the ground, half her body atop his.

Before the man had even realized what had happened, she straddled his hips and swung down with her elbow as hard as she could, smashing his nose back into his head and knocking him immediately unconscious. She briefly hoped that he was not dead, but quickly squashed that thought as evidence of Chuck's very negative influence on her making her go soft. She had to focus on the situation at hand, which was disabling the other two men.

They were already in motion. The third man, the one in front of the door, turned around to grab the door and pull it shut. Alarm welled up inside of her and she leapt to her feet, the third man her target. She had to stop him from closing the door. If the door closed, it would automatically lock from the outside, and then it wouldn't matter what she did to the other two men, she'd still be stuck inside her cell.

She just managed to slide her bare foot in between the door and the jamb before it shut, grimacing sharply at the pain that lanced up her leg as the metal dug into her flesh. The third man grabbed her shoulders and tried to pull her out of position. She brought her free leg up and kneed him in the groin. His eyes rolled up into his head but he didn't loosen his hold, instead he managed to get a punch into her injured right side. She cried out in pain and tried to knee the man again, but he was prepared this time and twisted his body enough so that she only glanced off his thigh.

The second man finally entered the fight and grabbed her left arm and began to twist it behind her back. At least it hadn't been her still tender right arm this time. With only one leg and one arm, she was at a serious disadvantage. She needed to end this fight now before more guards realized what was going on or one of the two men killed her. There was no doubt in her mind that they were there to kill her.

She head butted the third man in front of her, dazing him as well as ringing her own ears, but it allowed her enough time to hook her right arm around the man's neck and pull to the right. She did her best to sweep his legs out from under him, and he fell through the door to land halfway between her cell and the hallway. Now with the downed man acting as a doorstop, she turned her attention to the second man, and gave him a hard blow to the right side of his face.

His grip on her left arm loosened just enough for her to twist it free and now she turned to face the second man head on, smashing down on the third man's face with the heel of her foot as she spun around. He backed up slightly, giving himself room to maneuver, and she tried to smile confidently at him, but it was all an act, she was already feeling lightheaded after all the fighting with the first two men and could feel her adrenaline draining away.

With his own bloody smile, blood dripping from his nose and mouth like a vampire after feeding, he pressed a button on the radio attached to a belt on his hip and an alarm immediately began blaring throughout the facility. She shut her eyes at the sound, and could almost see her chance at escaping disappear right before her eyes.

She almost gave up right there. What would be the point?

Then her eyes opened and she sent her foot out in a high arching kick that caught the second man across the side of the head. He crumpled to his knees and she took two swift steps forward, grabbed the back of his head, and brought his face smashing into her raised knee. He stopped smiling after that.

She reached down, grabbed the radio from his hip, and ran out the door.

# # # # #

She had no idea where she was going or what she as going to do. She had just barely managed to avoid two roving guard patrols thanks to her pilfered radio, but knew that her luck was going to eventually run out. The facility was much bigger and convoluted than she had ever imagined. She only ever saw a very small portion of it as they took her back and forth for her showers, and what she had seen gave her no indication as to where the exit was. She needed to get outside the facility. It was possible she could grab a guard and make him tell her how to get out, but that was a dicey proposition at the best of times, especially since she had no weapons, and she was not at a hundred percent. Her weeks of captivity had ravaged her muscles, she still ached everywhere, and much of her confidence regarding her abilities was gone. Frankly, she was amazed she had disabled those three guards as easily as she had. She should have never been able to get free.

If only she could get outside… She remembered enough of the area around where they were holding her from her lunch outside. If she could get into the orange grove, she might have a chance of evading capture long enough to figure out where she was.

She was quietly moving down a hallway, limping slightly thanks to trying to stop her cell door from closing, sometimes leaning against the wall to stop herself from keeling over, when she saw him. To make matters even worse, he saw her. And he was alone. This was her worst nightmare. What was she supposed to do?

He had clearly been jogging as he turned the corner of her hallway, and when he saw her, his eyes widened and he pulled up to a stop. He smartly kept his distance and she immediately began calculating the best ways to get by him without causing him serious harm. She moved into the middle of the hallway and did her best to look like she wasn't on the verge of collapsing to the ground.

"There you are, I've been looking all over for you."

She snorted at his blasé tone, like he had lost sight of her in some shopping mall and he was just pleased to figure out he didn't have to search long to find her. "How about you do us both a favor and keep looking?"

He frowned at her and took a hesitant step forward. "You know I can't do that, Sarah."

She glared at him, loosening her body in preparation for a fight. She was not going to let him take her back in; she would rather fight him first. And she didn't think it would be a very long fight at all. Even Chuck could probably take her in her current condition. Her only chance was to keep him off balance and wait for the opportune moment. "You sent men to kill me tonight."

Chuck's face drained of color, his eyes searching her body in concern, his eyes lingering on her face and foot. His look was soft and open and she felt her own body relaxing, her own anger vanishing. Damn him! Then like a light being switched, he hardened and glared at her in outrage. "I did not! How could you even think I would do something like that?"

She couldn't help herself, but she felt shame at his anger. She knew, even if she wished it weren't so, even if she wanted so desperately for her not to believe him, that he would never do anything like that. At least she didn't think he would. There was still so much about Chuck Bartowski that she didn't know. There was a limit to her trust.

"I don't know that. For all I know, you're just one hell of an actor."

He moved closer, still furious with her. She had never seen him seething with so much barely controlled anger. His normally gentle, caring eyes were piercing and intense. That was when it finally donned on her what he was wearing: no shirt and only a loose pair of sweats that reminded her a hell of a lot like the pair she was currently wearing. Two thoughts almost completely derailed her thought process at that point: Oh my God, was she wearing his clothes? and was he sleeping in the facility now? She shook her head to jar those thoughts loose and focus on getting past him, but all she could see was him breathing deeply, the muscles of his chest tightening with every breath. There was a light sheen of sweat across his forehead and chest, his arms straining to grab her, his hair slightly tousled. It was taking all her self control not to rush him so she could pin him against the wall and burn off the nearly overpowering need for him she felt inside her.

"I'm your friend, Sarah," he said, still trying to rein in his anger. "You can trust me. You don't want to do this. If you do, I'm not sure I can help you when they catch you again and they will catch you."

Did he really care for her that much that her insinuation had pissed him off this completely? It didn't seem real to her. "What you are is stopping me from getting the hell out of here."

His anger finally dwindled to where he could talk in his normal, if slightly strained, tone. "We both know that if you wanted to, you could kill me easily." Then he cocked his head and asked, "So why don't you, huh? Is it because you don't want to? Is it because you can't?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but knew how close he was to the truth. "Somebody thinks a little highly of themselves."

Chuck shook his head and again stepped closer. "I saw what you did to those men in your room, Sarah. If it's not because you don't want to hurt me, then why can't you just…kick my ass and run?"

She tensed up and stepped backwards. If he actually got close enough to touch her, she'd be through. There was no way she'd be able to say no to him. "If you come any closer, maybe I will."

And then he turned her entire life upside down. "I can get you back in," he said boldly.

She froze, her breathing almost stopped, and she stared in disbelief. "You can what?"

With increasing confidence, he said, "I can get you back in, Sarah. I can get you a good deal. They'll listen to me. Come work for us."

"How…what…why?" She was spluttering in shock now. She had no idea what to say. This was the last thing she had expected, because it was so stupidly absurd.

He was only a few feet away now and he was smiling his encouraging smile. "I can help you. I can talk to them and get them to listen. They would much rather bring you back in than get rid of you. You're more useful that way."

"Chuck, no. You can't be…there is just no way, Chuck." She shook her head wildly, all thought of escaping temporarily driven from her mind. She couldn't even wrap her head around the thought of rejoining the CIA. She didn't even want to, did she? They had ruined her life. She didn't owe them anything. "You don't know what I've done. The things I know. They would never let me back in after all that. Never," she said with finality.

"I know you better than you might think."

In a weird way it was sweet. It meant more to her than she could ever possibly say, simply because it was Chuck offering and she knew he meant every word he said, but it just wasn't possible. Because no matter how great a guy Chuck was, he just didn't have that kind of power. Nobody did. "Chuck, why are you doing this? Why would you even think it?"

He threw his hands up into the air, clearly frustrated with her. Some of the anger leeched back into his eyes. "Because I want to help you, damn it! Why is that so hard for you to understand? That's all I've ever wanted. That's all I've ever tried to do. You deserve it."

She laughed. She didn't mean to, but the only thing she deserved was a shot to the back of the head and an unmarked grave somewhere. He was too good to her and it actually annoyed her a little that he would stoop so low as to even spend time concerning himself with her welfare. He had so much better things to do with his time than worry about her. "There is a lot in this life that I deserve, but a second chance is not one of them."

"You're wrong, Sarah."

"I just – I just don't understand, Chuck. Why?"

He stared at her with his deep, brown eyes and she shivered. "Because."

She sighed at his answer. "That's not a reason, Chuck."

He shrugged and said, "Maybe someday you'll actually understand why, but for now, that's all the reason I need."

Then he was touching her, his arms loosely wrapped around her and holding her close to him. She moved closer into his arms, sighing contentedly until it dawned on her just what exactly she was doing. She pushed him away from her roughly and he stumbled back several steps. He was doing it again, lulling her into a false sense of security so that he could get her to do what he wanted. He looked at her in surprise and she glared at him. "Don't touch me!"

She was grateful for the space that once again separated them. It was more than necessary to make sure she didn't do something she'd regret.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

Guilt overwhelmed her and she immediately felt sorry. He looked like a chastised puppy, his big eyes looking down at her for forgiveness. She blurted out the words she'd been holding back until that point, "Would I get to see you if I came back?"

He laughed. He laughed! All her guilt evaporated and she desperately wanted to hit him. She knew her face was probably as red as a fire truck and she felt horribly embarrassed. "Why, would you miss me?" He asked with a smirk.

"No!" She denied a little too vehemently.

His smirk softened into an easy smile and she relaxed as she always did when he smiled like that. She was still put out at his reaction though. "Unfortunately, the people I…work for would probably have a heart attack at just the thought of you and me in the same hemisphere, let alone the same city."

That made her decision a lot easier then. "No deal," she said.

He frowned. "Come on, Sarah, you shouldn't dismiss the idea out of hand like that."

She sprung forward, grabbed his upper arms and pushed him into the wall of the hallway. If he actually put up a fight, she doubted she'd be able to hold him there, but he barely struggled. His eyes were wide and for maybe the first time she could recall, there was fear there. Finally! After all this time, she had finally made him scared. She felt so satisfied she almost didn't notice how his naked chest was pressed up against hers. The feel of him so near overwhelmed her. She let out a quiet moan at the contact, her thin shirt rubbing deliciously against her nipples, and she kissed him hard.

He barely reacted at first. But after a few seconds of nibbling on his lower lip, he finally responded. He opened his mouth to her tongue and wrapped both of his arms around her back, pulling her even closer. She wrapped her right leg around his, grinded her hips against his, and moaned into his mouth as he bit down hard on her bottom lip. His tongue swept into her mouth, both of his hands moving to cradle her head, and he began to slowly, torturously, kiss her senseless. It was like he was moving deep inside her, owning her, and she felt herself gradually losing touch with reality. She had never been kissed like this before, with such enthusiasm and passion, and it caught her off guard. This was not at all going according to plan.

She was seconds away from completely failing her mission to escape. They both separated briefly to take in gasping breaths and then they crashed back together, their kisses becoming even more rough and intense. She was already finding it difficult to remember why she was trying to escape in the first place, so when he pulled his mouth away from hers, she let out a whine that quickly turned to breathy moans, as he started nibbling and kissing along her throat, taking time to lightly suck on the skin where her shoulder met her neck, she probably would have gladly let him lead her back to her cell if it meant he wouldn't stop.

She had to stop. The agent was screaming inside her head to concentrate, but she didn't want to stop. His fingers were caressing the skin of her back under her shirt and she had her own dug into his hair, desperately using them to anchor her upright. She wanted him to turn her around, press her against the wall, and take her right then and there. She didn't think she'd ever wanted anything more; which was why she wrenched her mouth free from his and punched him hard in the stomach. It was the last resort of a truly desperate woman. The air whooshed out of his lungs, his eyes full of betrayed surprise, and she hurriedly backed away, holding her hands out in front of herself like a shield. Her hands were shaking and she almost lost her balance, her head was still swimming.

"I'm so sorry, Chuck," she stammered out. She was breathing fast, trying to get a hold of herself. "I don't want to hurt you but I have to do this. As long as I'm free, they can't control me." And they can't tell me not to see you, but she didn't say that thought out loud. That would be giving away too much.

Chuck was bent over, his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths. She turned and reluctantly backed away from him even further. She wanted to make sure that he was okay, that she hadn't really hurt him, but she had to run before he could recover. He was the only one who could stop her now.

She looked at Chuck one last time and did her best to run down the hallway.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _Conversations with Dead People_ - Will Sarah escape? Who knows! Well, I know, but do you know? Stay tuned to find out!


	6. Conversations with Dead People

**Author's Note:** Thank you to all for your reviews! You guys made the last chapter the most reviewed chapter yet. Maybe I should have a kiss at the end of every chapter?

I'm not gonna lie, folks, I had the most fun writing this chapter than any other chapter so far. I don't know if that actually translates into something y'all will like, but here you go.

* * *

"Hey, wake up!"

Slap.

"I said, wake up!"

Slap.

She groaned and lolled her head to the side. She fluttered her eyes in an attempt to open them.

"Finally!"

Slap.

The impact of the woman's palm against her tender right cheek was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. Her eyes opened completely. She had no idea what was going on. "Whaaaaa?" Her voice slurred and she couldn't complete the question.

Thankfully, no further slaps came and she was able to adjust better to her newly wakened state. She licked her lips carefully, exploring them for injuries, and swallowed several times. Finally she felt confident enough to attempt a more coherent question. "What's going on?"

"Your stay was not quite over yet," the woman said. It was hard to focus so the woman was little more than a slowly congealing blob. Her head was throbbing. "I hope you don't mind your current accommodations. They should be quite familiar to you."

Panic caused her to turn her head in an attempt to look at where she was. Dizziness and nausea nearly caused her to vomit onto her lap at the movement. She let out a pitiful moan when she realized she was back in her hole. What the hell happened? The last thing she remembered was kissing Chuck and now this? No! She didn't want to be back here. She suddenly felt very cold and panic clawed at her mind. She didn't think she could handle another extended stay in her hole.

"Yes, I thought you might like it," the woman said. Then she added reassuringly, like she really was afraid she might not like being back in the hole. "Oh don't worry, I made sure the room was just how you left it."

She didn't want to think about being back in her hole. She was desperately trying her best to not think about where she was. Thinking about being back in her hole meant more thinking about what had happened to her in here and more nightmares. She decided to concentrate on what had happened to her after leaving Chuck instead. That was better, less terrifying. "What happened?"

"Don't remember, huh? Yeah, the tranqs can mess with your mind like that." The woman clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Although I'm sure that blow to the head Blue gave you just before you passed out probably didn't help. I'll have to have a word with him. Can't have him damaging your perfect little face, can we?" The woman traced a finger slowly along the right side of her face and she winced.

Somebody had hit her? That probably explained why her head felt like the size of a watermelon and why things were still blurry. Who the hell was Blue though? One of the guards she'd fought in her room? Had to be, but he wasn't one of her regulars, so he must have been brought in specially. "Somebody tranqed me? I…I don't remember. What happened?" she asked again.

There was the sound of metal scraping against the floor and she realized that the woman was pulling her chair closer. "You're pretty amazing."

She blinked her eyes and the woman came into focus a little more. She was still too indistinct to tell if she recognized her or not. "Thanks, but you're not my type." It really shouldn't be taking her this long to focus. Being in captivity was really screwing up her body.

The woman frowned, or at least she thought she did. "We both know what your type is."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The woman snorted in disbelief. "Right, of course you don't." Then the woman sighed. "You almost made it, you know; almost got out the door. Took you a bit to find your way to the exit but you eventually did. I was rather impressed." The woman chuckled lightly, "You didn't have a chance, of course, but still impressive."

She frowned and squinted at the woman, trying to make out her face. "Not impressive enough, obviously."

The woman shrugged and looked like she was smiling. "You didn't think we'd actually let you escape, did you? After everything you've seen?" The woman leaned forward and again trailed a finger along her bruised face in curiosity, only this time she focused on her bruised cheek. The woman sure did like touching her. It was starting to unnerve her a little bit, which is probably why the woman continued to do it.

She couldn't help but suck in a breath as the woman explored a particularly tender area of her cheekbone. "Don't get me wrong, we were surprised it took you this long to try and escape and I had to practically gift wrap things for you, but at least you finally tried."

"Stop touching me, you psychotic bitch," she snarled. She struggled slightly against her bonds but she didn't have the energy to put up anything more than a weak fight.

The woman patted her cheek in response—under normal circumstances the gesture might have been an act of affection—and it felt like a closed fist pounding her face in. She had to shut her eyes and clench down hard to not emit a sound. Again, the woman clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Casey and Bryce must have done a real number on you if it took you this long. I thought you'd make a serious effort after your first day in your new digs, but I guess I seriously underestimated Chuck's affect on you."

The woman leaned back into her chair and crossed her legs. She tapped long, slender fingers against her chin. "I got tired of waiting for you to do something so I helped things along." The woman smirked.

She felt her eyes widen and she started to put what little reserves of energy she had into testing the bonds holding her to the metal chair. She still couldn't get free. This was like the worst case of déjà vu in the world. Everything down to the zip tie around her wrists felt just like before. "You sent those men into my room." The woman stayed silent. "Why?"

The woman, who she could now see had red hair, studied the nails of her right hand. "I guess you could say it was a bit of a test."

"They tried to kill me," she said outraged.

"Don't be so dramatic," the red head said. She rolled her eyes and said utterly unconcerned and disinterested in her indignation, "I had complete faith in you."

"Did Chuck know?" She tensed up in anticipation of the red head's answer. She hated to even contemplate that maybe Chuck had been playing her all this time. She didn't think it was in his nature, but she couldn't trust anything these days. Not really. She couldn't imagine him sending men to her room to kill her just for part of some test.

"Of course not," the red head said and she deflated in relief. There was a distant, fond smile on the red head's face and she added, "Chuck would never have approved of such a thing." She felt her relief slowly drain away as the red head continued, "Besides, it lacked subtlety and Chuck has always liked coming at a problem from an angle nobody even thinks of. Me?" The red head flashed a wide grin, and there was the promise of violence in her cool eyes. "I guess you could say I like the obvious and the flashy. It's just so much more…invigorating."

"Then why? I could have killed them. For all I know, I _did_ kill them." She was fairly certain she hadn't killed any of the three men but to be honest she didn't particularly care that much if she had.

The red head waved a dismissive hand. "They're okay. Green will probably be spending the next month with the dentist, but there doesn't seem to be much permanent damage."

She was completely confused. None of what this woman was saying made any sense. Did she not care at all for the three men? They worked with her. They were on the same side. This was not at all how she remembered the CIA doing business. She knew that they didn't care that much about sacrificing the individual, especially if that sacrifice was in the name of the greater good, but they didn't just expend personnel for no reason. There was always a purpose, but she had no idea what purpose there was for allowing her to think she could escape. She suddenly felt like nothing more than a pawn on a giant chess board, waiting to be sacrificed for the king.

"Why did you do all this? Why would you send those men after me?" she asked pleadingly. She thought they wanted the information in her head. Had they decided to just give up on that and get rid of her? But if they had, then why was she still alive?

There was a sparkle of mischief in the red head's pale gray eyes and she only felt more confused at the sight. "That was the test."

"You wanted to see if I would kill them?" she asked bewildered.

The red head pursed her lips and nodded slightly. "That was only a small part," she said. "Mainly, I wanted to see just how much Chuck's managed to tame you. I gotta say, your actions in the hallway were…uh…enlightening."

She blushed furiously as the memory of Chuck's lips against her own, his chest rubbing against her breasts, his hands on her skin, made her burn and squirm in her seat. She desperately searched for a way to move the conversation off of the topic of her and Chuck. She did not need to be thinking about that right now. She needed to concentrate. She needed to know what the red head was planning, what her angle was. She needed to know what she knew.

Then what the red head said registered in her mind and she saw red. She immediately began straining futilely at her bonds; she wanted to wrap her hands around the red head's throat and squeeze until her eyes bulged out of her head. "Tame me!? TAME ME!?"

The red head looked positively giddy at her reaction. "Oh yes, tame you. And I must say, Chuck's done a far better job than even I thought he would. He's got you wrapped around his little finger. You're so far gone that you didn't even realize he planted a tracking device on you during your little incident in the hallway."

Her face drained of color and her struggling quickly stopped. "He wouldn't do that. You're lying!" she snapped.

The red head grinned. "Yup! I just wanted to see your reaction." Then the woman started giggling and she felt all her anger return. This woman was crazy.

"You're crazy. What's wrong with you!?"

"When was the last time you got laid, Blondie? It was a good plan, trying to distract him so you could get away, but I think your seduction skills need a little work. Poor Chuck had to do everything last night. I can't believe he actually enjoyed himself with you standing there like an inexperienced teenager kissing a boy for the first time." The red head looked at her critically, concern on her face. "You're not a virgin are you?"

She was furious. No, furious was too kind a word for what she was feeling now. She was so overcome with rage that she couldn't even speak.

The red head slapped her across the face, her head whipping to the side painfully. All signs of amusement were gone from the red head's face and she growled, "I asked you a question, Blondie."

It was like the slap snapped everything into place. Things started to click in her mind. She should have realized it sooner. She really was losing her edge. She recognized the woman now. It was the same red head who was always following Chuck around, making sure he was okay. Her eyes widened but she quickly composed herself. The voice, it was the same as the unidentified woman that had helped capture her. She had finally found her.

She had never in her life truly, deeply wanted to kill another human being for personal gain. She'd done so out of necessity or because it was her job, but she had never actually sought out another person just so she could kill them for personal reasons. Finally, she had found her exception. Anger and hate boiled inside of her like a volcano and she was on the verge of erupting. She wanted this woman dead and she wanted to be the one who shoved a knife into her heart so she could see that haughty, smarmy, infuriating look disappear from her eyes. How Chuck could put up with her was beyond her understanding. And she was totally not his type. She was much prettier than the annoying bitch.

She figured it was time to start doing some annoying of her own. "What's a matter? You afraid that this virgin could give Chuck more than you ever could?" She sneered and said, "I'm sure you're _very_ experienced, but Chuck doesn't strike me as the kind of guy to go for a woman who's been rode more times than a bull at the rodeo."

The red head snarled and hit her with a closed fist across the mouth.

Blood leaked into her mouth and she spat it out onto the floor at the red head's feet. "Looks like I touched a nerve. It must piss you off to be nothing more than his shadow."

The red head was flexing her hand and trying to compose herself. She frowned and looked like she'd just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. "I am NOT his shadow."

"Could have fooled me, the way you're always stalking him when we're together. Are you really so jealous you have to watch over his shoulder to make sure he doesn't do anything?" She shrugged her shoulders and twisted the knife just a little bit more. "I mean, I don't really blame you, the way he looks at me. I'd get jealous too."

The red head got visibly angry and clenched her fists, but this time she didn't lash out. That only made her more frustrated. She wanted the red head to be angry. Angry people made mistakes. She needed to press harder. "He's a great kisser. I mean, a _really_ good kisser."

The red head's face drained of color and her knuckles turned white she was clenching so hard. But then the woman's face went slack, her eyes full of satisfaction and a haughty sense of superiority. The red head gave her a cold smile and it almost made her shiver. "I know," she said. Then her smile transformed into a self-satisfied smirk. "He's even better in bed."

She shut her eyes and winced, like the woman had slapped her in the face again. Damn it, she had been afraid of that. What was worse was that the red head was now looking at her like she knew what she had been trying to do and was enjoying how her plan had backfired on her entirely too much. It made sense. The red head was a little too overprotective of somebody who was just a colleague, even a partner.

That didn't stop her from seething though. Or feeling jealous. "Fucking Bitch."

"Carina, actually, but bitch works for me too."

The woman was always smirking. Didn't she know how to do anything else? She sighed in frustration; all they were doing was going in circles. "What is the point of all this?"

"I wanted to see for myself what Chuck sees in you."

"Great skin."

"What?"

She finally gave Carina—the name left a bad taste in her mouth, but it was better thinking of her like that than just 'the red headed bitch'—a smirk of her own. "I've always been told I have great skin."

Carina snorted and arched a thin eyebrow as she looked pointedly up and down her body, ending on her breasts. "Oh yes, I'm sure that's why they love you."

"Is it my fault Chuck just likes me more?"

Carina rolled her eyes. "Frankly, I don't get it."

"You told me yourself I was amazing. What's to get? That seems pretty self explanatory to me."

"As an agent, you're amazing. As a woman, you leave something to be desired."

"This is getting tiring," she said, faking a yawn. She relaxed into her chair and closed her eyes. "Can we get on with the torture now?"

"I'm not here to do that. I already told you what I'm here for."

"Yeah, yeah, checking out the competition."

"Hardly."

"Then what?"

"Seeing if you're worth it."

"If I'm worth it? Worth what?"

"A second chance."

She blinked and pursed her lips in thought. Carina was now the second person to mention a second chance. Was it really possible? Could these people actually do what they claimed? "I don't get it, Chuck said the same thing. It's not possible."

Carina sighed and leaned closer so that they were only inches apart. She had to push farther back into her chair so that there was adequate space between them. The last thing she wanted was to be that close to Carina, who was perhaps staring at her lips a little too hard.

Carina started talking. "Let me explain things to you." Carina swallowed and moistened her lips, the smirk on her face completely gone. In its place was a calm, serious, detached look. "You were dead the second Chuck told you his name." She must have looked shocked because Carina added scornfully, "Oh don't be so surprised. Why do you think he did it? He might not be an agent, like you and me, but he's not an idiot."

She tried to speak but found her mouth suddenly dry, "I…"

"He wanted to back you into a corner, leave you no choice but to accept his proposition." She sighed and said in exasperation. "He really does want to help you. This, of course, means _I_ have to help you too."

"I…I don't understand." She was looking wildly all over her hole now, as if there was some source of enlightenment hidden somewhere around her. She could not stand looking at those penetrating steel eyes only inches away any longer.

Carina brought a hand up and played with a lock of hair, seemingly disinterested in the affect her words were having on her. "See, the way I see it, you've got two options: You tell us what you know and maybe we'll be able to make use of you somehow. As long as you're a good little pet that does what she's told, I'm sure Chuck will…scratch your belly or throw you a treat every now and then for being a good girl," she said and waved her hand dismissively, like she really didn't care either way what Chuck did for her it was that inconsequential and meaningless.

Carina stopped and waited, probably for her to ask what the second option was, not like she didn't already know. "And the second choice?" she asked hoarsely, too shocked by Carina's words to do anything else.

"A body bag." Carina said it so simply, and she had a feeling that the woman would not care even a little bit if that was her future.

"Some choice," she said bitterly. She couldn't believe she had been so blind to how Chuck had maneuvered her. It made sense. All his actions, everything that he had done for her, finally truly made sense. She'd opened herself to him, started to trust him, even liked him, and he had only been treating her like he had so she'd have no choice but to tell them what she knew.

Carina must have known what she was thinking because she said sympathetically, leaning back to a more personal-space friendly position, "Don't feel too bad. You think you're the first female agent we used Chuck on? This is why he's here, it's what he's best at." Carina laughed and smiled proudly. "Hell, he's so good we even use him sometimes on the male agents." She must have made a face because Carina hastily added with a roll of her eyes, "Not like _that._ Chuck just has a way of getting under people's skin, most of the time without them even realizing it." Carina sighed wistfully, "He certainly did with me." Carina then lowered her voice, looked around the room furtively, like she was expecting somebody to be watching them, and whispered playfully, "You know the big guy? The one who hates you so much? Three years ago, he _hated_ Chuck. Couldn't even stand to be in the same room as him. They fought constantly." Her eyes brightened and her voice was full of amusement. "Now, Casey would probably kill his own mother if he thought she was a threat to Chuck. Of course, you didn't hear that from me."

"Why are you telling me this?" Her voice cracked and she had to shut her eyes tight. She would not cry. She wouldn't! Like Chuck was the first man to mess with her head to get something he wanted; like he was the first man to make her care about him before betraying her. She knew he was doing it too, that's what made it worse. She had known and she had let him sucker her in anyway, all because she lost objectivity. Years upon years of heaping scorn on men and women who compromised themselves for a pretty face, a nice smile, or a night of passion, and she had gone and done the very same thing. She should have known better. All the men in her life did this. This was nothing new. She could handle it. She could!

"I don't know."

She was surprised to note that Carina really did seem to be unsure about why she was telling her all this.

"I guess it's a warning of sorts."

"I…see." She didn't really understand, but when a person like Carina gave you a warning, it was best to pretend you knew what was going on and figure out the specifics later. This woman was dangerous, clearly territorial, and perhaps more than a little insane.

"Stay away from Chuck." Carina stood up and grabbed her chair. She was leaving. "I see anything like the hallway again and I'll kill you. I'm serious. I don't care what information you have or how many lives it might save or any other bullshit like that. I care about Chuck only and I won't hesitate to make sure he's safe."

So that's why she was really here. Took her long enough to get to her point. "You really are jealous, aren't you? You're that worried I'm going to take him away from you?"

Carina glared at her, eyes deadly cold. "Chuck is better than you. Better than both of us. He doesn't need your baggage weighing him down. You'd destroy him within a month, if that." She turned her back and walked to the door. It opened and she paused on the threshold. She looked over her shoulder. "And no, I'm not jealous. I'm just doing my job," she said quietly.

Then Carina was gone and the door shut and despite the tightness with which she shut her eyes, she could not stop herself from slowly crying.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _The World According to Chuck_ - We leave Sarah's point of view for a chapter and see just what Chuck is thinking about all this crap going on around him.


	7. The World According to Chuck

**Author's Note:** First, and foremost, I gotta thank Wepdiggy for his help in calming me down and actually making me publish this chapter. I wanted to scrap the entire thing and re-do it, but he convinced me that it wasn't necessary. I'm still not completely convinced, but here you go, folks. I hope you like it, and if you don't, well...it's totally not my fault. It's his. Just kidding, it is all my fault.

Hopefully the problems with reviews doesn't happen again this time. I like it when I'm able to see what those who are reading have to say. Let your voices be heard!

* * *

Chuck knocked on the door and waited patiently for his sister to come. He looked at Carina to his side and rolled his eyes at what he saw. "Stop fidgeting."

Carina frowned and smoothed her very conservative—for her—sundress down for what was probably the hundredth time. She was shifting from foot to foot, biting down on her bottom lip, and looked longingly at Casey's apartment. She wanted to bolt to where it was safe, away from the rest of his family.

He placed a calming hand on the small of her back and she instantly stilled. She looked up at him with a hesitant smile and he winked. "Relax, Carina. You've been here a million times. This is no different from any other."

"And I hated every single one of those other times," she mumbled under her breath.

He pretended not to hear her and instead rubbed her back slowly in an attempt to comfort her. Like he knew it would, she instantly relaxed and briefly leaned against him in relief and thanks. Physical contact always settled Carina down. He pressed an easy kiss to the side of her head gently before removing his hand and putting some distance between them. The last thing he wanted was Ellie getting the wrong impression about him and Carina. Hell, sometimes he didn't even understand what was going on between them. And he had enough problems with the two of them to add _that _complication to the list.

After what probably seemed like an eternity to Carina, Ellie finally opened the door. There was the typical enormous smile on his sister's face and she hurriedly welcomed them into her home with a big hug for him and a slightly strained, awkward hug for Carina.

Ellie and Carina had never completely hit it off. He suspected that somehow, perhaps subconsciously, Ellie was able to pick up on the fact that Carina was not being honest with her. That didn't make sense to him, because he was positive that he had Ellie totally convinced that he didn't live a second life and there was no way that he was a better liar than Carina. The woman was a veritable Michelangelo of the duplicitous arts. It was possible that Ellie questioned the validity of their friendship. That would be just like his sister.

She would wonder why a clearly beautiful woman spent nearly every waking moment with him and yet, as far as she knew, was not sleeping with him. The issue was compounded by the fact that Carina was ostensibly supposed to be Bryce's girlfriend and yet spent more time with him than she ever did with Bryce. Ellie would only see it as a slightly different variation of the trouble that had cropped up between Bryce and Jill and the last thing Chuck wanted her to be reminded of was that. Ellie still occasionally complained about Bryce, despite the fact that they had largely buried the hatchet between them—Ellie had always taken Bryce and Jill's indiscretion to heart much harder than he had—and things were mostly back to normal. He didn't want Ellie suspecting that instead of Bryce messing with his girl, _he_ was the one this time messing with Bryce's girl behind his back. Knowing Ellie, she'd probably think it some petty act of revenge.

That couldn't be helped, though. Chuck had flatly refused long ago to have anything resembling a cover girlfriend. Having a woman pose as a close friend was just as effective in his mind. He would not force a woman to be saddled in an involuntary relationship with him, no matter how much the woman in question might be willing to do so for the job—and Carina was extremely willing. Added to that, he had not been ready for any kind of relationship, fake or otherwise, after Jill had been killed by that drunk driver. Not only would it have been too soon, it would have also _appeared_ too soon to everybody in his life. Beckman and Graham hadn't liked it, in fact had complained about the inconvenience of it all, but it had been one of the few conditions he had placed on his service. It added unnecessary complications to his life sometimes, but fortunately Bryce had proved unbelievably convenient and amenable to the idea of a cover girlfriend. If only Bryce and Carina actually liked each other…

The two of them stepped over the threshold and entered the apartment. Ellie closed the door behind them and shooed them farther into the apartment. "I'm so happy you're here, Chuck."

Chuck smiled indulgently at his sister. "I'm here every week on Wednesday."

Ellie sighed wistfully and reached out to adjust his shirt for him. No matter how old he got, Ellie would never stop fussing over him. "I know, I just…I miss you, that's all." She smiled a little sadly. "I wish you hadn't moved out," she said quietly, almost like she was afraid of his reaction. Ellie had had a hard time letting go when he first moved out, especially when she learned he'd be sharing an apartment with Bryce. She had been terrified he was regressing instead of progressing like she desperately wanted for him. He could only imagine how horrified she'd be if she ever learned his original plan was to move in with Morgan.

Chuck rolled his eyes exaggeratedly but kissed Ellie on the cheek. "I moved out years ago, El." He moved close and hugged his sister. He whispered into her ear, "I sometimes wish I hadn't moved out either."

Ellie pulled away from the hug with a beaming smile, extremely pleased and shuffled into the kitchen.

Chuck turned to Carina and smiled sympathetically. Carina had just stood there, quietly, completely unlike her usual dynamic self, as Ellie and he had their little moment. It was a variation of the same routine they went through every Wednesday during family dinner night. And like usual, Carina was largely ignored.

At first it had made him angry that Ellie didn't seem to like Carina and every time he would bring it up, his sister would flatly deny she held any ill feelings toward his partner. There wasn't much he could do. He couldn't force his sister to like Carina, and he wasn't about to make Carina spend time around someone she found so uncomfortable. He tried to minimize their contact together as much as possible, but sometimes it couldn't really be avoided, like family dinner night. He only wished he could change things. Carina was probably the second most important person in his life—although Morgan would argue until he was blue in the face that that wasn't true—and he really wanted them to get along. The evidence, however, did not point to a true détente any time soon.

It had been four years of awkward hugs, stilted conversations, and uncomfortable silences. Carina tried so hard too and it always broke his heart every time her effort went largely unrewarded. For her, it was like planning an attack on a Fulcrum facility: Hair had to be perfect, makeup done just right, clothes chosen to convey the right message, that she was friendly, unthreatening, honest—not in anyway like that trollop Jill who cheated on her fiancé and broke his heart, as Ellie would say—, and a series of pre-planned responses to potential questions. She was so terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing and having their already awkward relationship become even more strained that she had to plan everything out beforehand. He had teased her on more than one occasion about bringing note cards with her and she always laughed him off with an uncomfortable, hesitant giggle, like she had actually contemplated doing just that.

He placed an arm around Carina's shoulders and gently guided the both of them to the kitchen. Carina didn't so much drag her feet as she tried to pull him over to the couch that dominated the front room; anything to put off having to interact with his sister for a little longer. "Come on, I promise not to abandon you to the wolves."

Carina sighed and nodded her head slightly. She was the fiercest, bravest, most unflappable woman he'd ever met. She was the kind of woman that always had to be the center of attention and was always dynamic and full of life. She was someone who could not and would not be tamed by anything, would probably be irreverent and inappropriate until her dying breath, and yet all it took to break her cool and turn her into a meek, quiet, nervous woman was five minutes with his sister.

He would never understand why she got so nervous and timid, but he suspected it had to do with how afraid she was of her cover being blown. Carina loved her life and didn't want to give it up. He still found himself in shock sometimes when he thought of the fact that Carina had requested a permanent duty assignment as his partner—Carina almost never referred to herself as his handler, and typically only then when she was trying to make a point—over a year ago. She had explained to him, in no uncertain terms, that this was her choice, it was what she wanted, and she didn't want to hear any nonsense about giving up her life to stick with him. It had taken a little getting used to, but he couldn't deny that it gave him no small amount of comfort to know that no matter what happened in his life while he had the Intersect, there would always be somebody he trusted and could depend on to always be there for him.

Of course, her assignment was only as viable as her cover, and in her mind, it was in a rather precarious position. He had tried to explain that no matter how much Ellie might not like her, that didn't affect his feelings, but she didn't believe him. She would always tell him she knew how much weight his sister's opinion carried with him and it wasn't worth the risk. She was just so paranoid that Ellie would not approve of her, which in Chuck's mind was completely ridiculous because he couldn't understand how somebody might not like Carina.

Unfortunately, her fears were not completely unfounded; Bryce had originally been slated as his partner, seeing how they had been with the Intersect project since the beginning, but Ellie had never warmed up to the idea of Bryce being around and so it was determined that a fresh face was needed and Carina was brought in to be his handler instead. She was undoubtedly afraid of Ellie developing the same ambivalence toward her as she had Bryce—it had taken almost a year and a half before Ellie stopped acting cold toward Bryce and another six months before she'd even talk civilly with him—and the last thing Carina wanted was that kind of deep seated animosity.

Carina whispered fiercely in his ear, "I swear to God, Chuck, if you leave me alone with her like you did last week, I'll tell Casey it was you who crushed his bonsai tree."

"You wouldn't!"

Carina gave him her familiar smirk, it was faint but at least it was there, and said, "Watch me."

"I promise not to leave your side."

Carina smiled in relief and he watched some of the tension drain out of her body. "Thank you."

She plastered on an artificial smile as they walked into the kitchen. Chuck watched his sister pull a pan of lasagna out of the oven and place it on the counter. She looked over her shoulder at the two of them and smiled. "Hope you guys are hungry. Morgan called before you got here and it doesn't look like he's going to make it." She rolled her eyes, "Seems like those two idiots…um…the one that's always drunk and Larry or Leslie, whatever his name is, apparently knocked over an entire row of DVD's today and he has to stay and make sure it gets cleaned up."

Chuck frowned slightly at learning that his little buddy wasn't going to make it to dinner, but he was proud that Morgan was taking his new job as Assistant Manager at the Buy More seriously. He had always known that Morgan had it in him to be responsible.

Chuck leaned against the counter with his arms crossed in front of his chest, and watched his sister work. "Anything I can do to help?"

Carina piped up eagerly, "Yeah, Ellie, do you need any help?"

If Chuck hadn't known his sister as well as he did, he might have missed the way her face seemed to darken, just briefly, at Carina's offer of help. She shook her head slightly and gave Carina a small smile. "No thanks, Carina, I think everything that needs doing has already been done." Then she turned to Chuck and said, "Although, you could always set the table." Then she turned back around to work on the food.

Chuck watched Carina slump dejectedly and he frowned. With a motion of his head at Carina to follow him, he started to gather the dishes for the table. He didn't know why Ellie couldn't have just asked Carina to set the table. It was such a little thing but he was sure Carina wouldn't be looking so damn pathetic now if Ellie had just thrown her some kind of bone. Carina recovered, quickly though, and hurriedly moved to help him with the table.

Chuck called into the kitchen, "So, did Devon manage to get off shift early tonight?"

Ellie responded, "Yeah, he said he would just be a few minutes late and to start without him."

The three of them worked in silence for a moment and then Ellie asked, "Speaking of boyfriends, where's Bryce?"

Chuck sighed at the suspicious, searching tone of his sister's voice. Before he could respond with a hasty lie—he had no idea where Bryce was himself, and Carina had refused to tell him—Carina actually spoke up, "He had to do a last minute conference call with some overseas clients so I don't think he's going to make it. He's trying to get them to bite on our new network security package—the one Chuck initially designed to kill that new Trojan that's been going around these last few weeks," she added for Ellie's benefit. "He wanted to explain to them just how important it was for them to take the deal he was offering and if they didn't, he would show them just why it was a bad idea." Ellie had stuck her head around the corner to look at the both of them and Carina added, "His words, not mine. You know how he gets when he thinks he's right and everybody else should fall in line," she said embarrassedly, just like if she were trying to cover up a real boyfriend's perceived foibles.

Ellie snorted and moved back into the kitchen, muttering undoubtedly under her breath about Bryce. Chuck spun to face Carina in surprise and concern. That had obviously been a lie she had just fed his sister, but what was she covering up and why had she been so unwilling to tell him about it earlier? She quickly walked over to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him farther away from his sister. She whispered, "Graham asked him to have a talk with Walker about her escape attempt. He's not coming."

"He's what?!" he hissed loudly.

Carina looked worriedly toward the kitchen and squeezed his arm hard. He winced and tried to pry her hand away but her fingers wouldn't budge. "Quiet! You're going to make your sister suspicious."

"Why is he talking to Sarah? Nobody is supposed to see her but me." Sarah was his: His op, his plan, his opportunity. It had been him who stopped Casey from killing her, because he recognized her potential. It had been him who had talked Graham and Beckman into giving her better accommodations and treating her more humanely; because he saw something in her he didn't usually see in captured Fulcrum personnel. It had been him that she kissed in that hallway, not Bryce. Damn it, he shouldn't be thinking about that. It had been so stupid. He had deserved that punch to the gut.

Carina shrugged her shoulders and looked helpless. "I'm sorry, Chuck, but there wasn't anything I could do. Graham was insistent."

"Goddamn it, Carina, he's going to ruin everything." He was seriously considering leaving his sister's right now and going out to the holding facility. "I was this close to getting through to her. I only needed a few more days, even with the escape attempt. In fact, considering what happened between us, that probably helped."

Carina frowned and gave him a very disapproving look. Her hold on his arm tightened even more and she said angrily, "I saw for myself how much it helped. What were you thinking?" She punched him in his other arm.

He couldn't help it, he blushed as he again remembered that kiss. He had been remembering that kiss _a lot_ since it happened. "She kissed me! I was surprised, okay?" He blushed again slightly. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Oh I don't know, how about not sticking your tongue down her throat!?" The last part came out as a loud whisper and Carina looked mortified that she had said that so loudly.

Ellie was coming around the corner and looked at them strangely. "Everything okay?"

Both put on big smiles and nodded their heads. "Oh yeah, El, everything's great."

Carina added, "Just fantastic."

"Riiiiight, okay, well dinner is almost done. I just have to grab the garlic bread and we can start."

As soon as Ellie was gone, Carina spun on him and pinned him with a fierce glare. "Look, Chuck, Beckman says they're hearing increased chatter about a potential Fulcrum attack on a major CIA facility in the next few days. They want to know what Walker knows and they want to know it now. So they are going to increase the pressure on your little girlfriend," she said derisively.

Chuck glared right back. "And I would have gotten that information from her willingly in just a few days. Not only that, but I would have done it without hurting her."

Carina took a step back and glared at Chuck. "You've lost your objectivity. Not hurting her is a laudable goal but that shouldn't be your primary concern and I think you've lost sight of that."

"I know exactly what my primary goal is." He leaned in close to Carina and watched her eyes widen slightly. "She's going to shut down completely after this. Let me talk to her and I'll get everything you need."

"It's too late for that, Chuck. Bryce should have already started by now."

Chuck stepped back from Carina hurriedly and couldn't help but feel betrayed. "That's why you wouldn't tell me what he was doing until we got here, wasn't it? You knew that I wouldn't be able to leave without causing a scene with Ellie."

At least Carina had the good sense to look ashamed and wouldn't meet his eyes. She only nodded.

Then Ellie shuffled into the room and motioned them to the dinner table. Chuck stared coldly at Carina and sat next to his sister instead of Carina as he planned. When Carina saw where he was sitting, she gave him the most miserable look he had ever seen but he didn't care.

They started to eat.

# # # # #

It was petty and cruel but Chuck did not say more words than absolutely necessary during dinner. As a result, keeping the conversation going with his sister and Devon, once he had arrived, was entirely left up to Carina. She had done her best to not let the dinner devolve into a completely uncomfortable, silent meal, but she had floundered more than not. There had been times where she had literally been begging with her eyes for him to come to her rescue but he had only looked at her coldly. This was a slight he had no intention of forgiving lightly.

He could forgive Carina a lot of things, in fact, he often did, but blatantly lying to him and manipulating his feelings with little more regard than a person might have for a piece on a chess board was something he had always had difficulty accepting. He had made that clear on more than one occasion and she always swore that he could trust her, her above all others. She would not lie to him unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then, only if it was for his own protection. He could see nothing of the current situation that jeopardized his safety. Now Sarah's on the other hand…

It was not right what they were doing to her. He had worked so hard to get Sarah to trust him and to believe that he had her best interests at heart. He was confident he could save her if she only gave him the chance. He could get her a deal with Graham and Beckman, bring her back into the fold and let her do what she did so well, only this time for the good guys again. She was too useful a weapon to simply abuse and then discard. She should be pointed in the proper direction and unleashed. And if he could save her life, give her freedom, and do just one act of kindness for her in the process, then so much the better. She was so sure that she deserved so little in life and he wanted to show her that she deserved so much more.

Dinner wound down and Chuck insisted that he be allowed to do the dishes. He just wanted some alone time, doing a mind-numbing, repetitive task, so he could think about what was going on. When Carina hurriedly got up to help, like an eager puppy hoping to please him, he sent her a fierce glare and she sat back down at the table with a disappointed frown. He was probably only unnecessarily fueling his sister's suspicions—she had stared at him with a concerned look on her face for most of dinner—but at the moment he didn't care.

He was just so angry. He couldn't even explain why he was so angry. He wasn't even sure that he had any right to be angry to begin with, but no matter what the reason, he was pissed. Angry at Graham for cutting his legs out from underneath him, angry at Bryce for following orders even when he had to know how wrong those orders were, angry at Sarah for bringing these confusing feelings up at all, but mostly just furious at Carina for keeping this from him and then making him mad at her in the first place. He _hated_ being mad at Carina, she always knew exactly what strings to pull to make him forgive her. She was too damn good at manipulating him sometimes, and he usually only saw it when she wanted him to know she was doing it.

He was drying the last of the dishes when Carina came into the kitchen. He knew she was there, could smell her, could feel her eyes on him, but he didn't turn around and acknowledge her. He wanted to see what she would do. Now that he had had a chance to think about things and calm down a little, he was willing to hear what she had to say. God, he was so easy. He wished somebody would come up to him, grab his shoulders and shake some sense into him. He was already starting to forgive her, and he hated that. The more pathetic she looked, the more miserable she acted, the easier it became for him to excuse her actions. He couldn't help it, and he knew she knew that too, which was probably why she was showing so much naked emotion.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

He tensed a little but that was the only indication he gave that he was even listening.

She continued on, her voice a little stronger. "I'm sorry, Chuck." He could hear her sigh and then move a little closer. "I really am sorry."

They could not have this conversation here; his sister or Devon could walk in at any moment. He turned around and locked eyes with his partner for only a second, for that was as long as he could stand the uncomfortable misery he saw there, before walking down the hall toward his old bedroom. Carina got the message because she was fast on his heels.

He spared a lingering look at his sister and Devon as he passed them on the way to his room. They were sitting close together, both staring at him and Carina as they walked passed, whispering to themselves. If he knew his sister, she was probably talking Devon's ear off with all the different theories about what might be going on between the two of them. He was going to need to do some serious damage control when this was all over, but he couldn't worry about that now.

He opened the door to his room and held it open for Carina. She stepped through, lightly brushing against him, and he tensed at the contact. He couldn't tell if she had done that on purpose, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it if she had. He shut the door behind him.

His room had changed a lot since he last lived in the apartment. The walls were mostly bare and seemed plain now that all his posters, pictures, and other bits of nerdery were gone. There was a lot more space now too, or it at least seemed like there was, what was not taken up by the occasional box or odd piece of furniture that Ellie and Devon kept in his room. They had converted it into a storage space/workout room/office. Still, despite all the organized chaos that had descended on the room he used to think of as home, it felt bigger than he remembered.

Carina moved into the center of the room and had her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. She wouldn't look at him, except for a brief sweeping of her eyes every few seconds to see what he was doing. She looked completely miserable and he could feel the last vestiges of his anger fade away. It wasn't really her fault. She was probably just following orders and it wasn't like she had technically lied to him.

"Just tell me why."

"A lot of reasons, I guess."

He hadn't expected that response and so said a bit harshly than he meant, "How about just picking one."

Defensively, Carina snapped back, "You started it!"

"What?" Where had that come from? He honestly had no idea what she meant by that. Were they 10? "I started it?"

Carina finally looked up from staring at the ground to lock eyes with him. She was more alive and intense now than she had been all evening. "When you told her your name; you started it then."

Oh. She meant that. "It was a gamble, I know that, but –"

She cut him off, angry and stormed toward him. She poked him in the chest hard, "It was stupid, was what it was! You thought you could turn her just like that, huh?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Thought you could smile at her and treat her well and she would just fawn all over you? You let your ego get the better of you, Chuck!" She stopped briefly to suck in a big breath, her eyes wide and wild, and barreled on. "Walker is so open to manipulation at this point that Bryce or Casey could have done just as well. But nooooo, YOU had to save the damsel in distress! It had to be you!" She poked him in the chest and yelled, "Well, I got news for you, Chuck Bartowski, you're not that special!"

Chuck was at a loss for words. Where was all this coming from? She had objected when he first told her about his idea, but she had quickly conceded after some brief discussion that it was probably the best plan they had. He would befriend her, get her to open up to him, and then convince her to work for them—the simple fact of the matter was that he was just less threatening than Bryce or Casey and far more believable. There was really no choice but him, and Carina had accepted that point even if she was now claiming that Bryce or Casey could have done the job just as well.

Telling Sarah his real name had only been part of the plan, the fact that it came with a guaranteed failsafe—namely that once she learned his name she'd really have no choice but to turn or else she'd probably end up dead—had only been a fortuitous bonus. He hadn't wanted to manipulate Sarah that way, in fact it made him feel disgusted with himself, but he wanted her alive and willing to help more than he wanted her to like him. He could live with her not liking him if it meant she would tell him what she knew and save herself in the process. No matter how many times he told himself that, that having her hate him would be okay, he always seemed to need to convince himself one more time. "But Carina you said that it was a good –"

She stormed on, far too overcome with emotion and anger to care about anything he had to say. "And of course I had to do what you wanted, because I'm weak." She stepped away from him, muttering under her breath, clearly talking more to herself now than she was him. "Because I can't say no, I can't handle seeing that damn look on your face when you don't get your way, and I'm the worst handler in the world. You're my asset and yet you make all the decisions!" This she clearly yelled for his ears. "I should have never made this a permanent assignment."

That was going too far. He was mad at her, but not mad enough to want her to leave. "Whoooa, Carina, stop. You are not going anywhere."

She whirled on him and gave him the fiercest glare he'd ever seen. He wanted to turn around and run. She was usually so playful and cloying when around him that he sometimes forgot she was a dangerously lethal woman that could make most men quake in fear. Combine that with the fact that at the best of times Carina was a little insane and prone to extreme mood shifts, and you had to be careful just what you said to her when she got like this. He'd even seen Casey sometimes think twice about going against Carina when she was in this kind of mood and Casey normally relished the idea of confrontation no matter who the opposition was.

"And why shouldn't I leave, huh? You don't listen to me, you do whatever you want, stupidly put yourself in danger even when I practically beg you not to do it, and you managed to somehow develop feelings for a woman that would as soon as kiss you as stab you in the back. Why should I put up with that kind of grief?"

"Because I need you," he said simply, honestly.

Carina instantly deflated at that, all her anger gone. She looked on the verge of tears, which seemed crazy to him, because Carina never cried. "I saw her today," she said, whispering. "Before Bryce, I mean."

"You did what?!"

She winced and sat down heavily atop a stack of boxes. "I had to. I had to see what she was like for myself. All this talk from Graham and Beckman about how she's so great, how they have plans for her, and Bryce going on and on and on. And you!" she exclaimed, a sad look on her face. "And you…" She trailed off into nothing, her eyes a million miles away.

"What did you talk about?" Chuck was trying to restrain his anger; she was being honest with him, even if it was a little after the fact.

"Most of the stuff I would like…not to repeat." Her eyes came into focus just before she closed them, like she was bracing herself for his reaction at her refusal to tell him what she talked about with Sarah. When he didn't yell, like she was probably expecting, she hesitantly opened her eyes. "But I may have told her that I would kill her if something like the hallway happened again." She at least looked embarrassed.

Chuck sighed and then chuckled weakly despite himself. "Oh Carina, why would you do that?" He knew why, or at least he thought he did. He walked over to Carina and slowly picked her up from the boxes so that he could give her a hug. She stood stiffly at first, but quickly relaxed and hugged him back much more fiercely than he hugged her.

"She's a threat to you." She sniffled slightly. "You might not care about that but I do. You aren't thinking straight when it comes to her."

"I know."

"You do?" She pulled back to look up at him in surprise and confusion. "I don't understand. Why are you doing all this then?"

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and pulled away from Carina so that he could pace. "Because I can't help it, I guess. There's just something about her, Carina. I can't explain it, that's just how it is."

She moved away from him angrily, "You just want to sleep with her."

"No! It's not about sex, okay? It's not like that. I really do just want to help her."

She stared at him skeptically, clearly not really believing him. So he forced himself to say more, even though he wasn't sure this next part was all that true. "I won't lie and say I don't find her attractive, because I do, but she's Fulcrum, Carina. She's a murderer and a traitor. And while I think I can help her, while I think I can give her some small amount of redemption, I don't want a relationship with her. That's just crazy."

Carina glared at him again and he hoped his words had sounded more convincing than they did in his head. He _really_ hoped she believed him when he denied thinking about a relationship, of any kind, with Sarah. Apparently she hadn't, because she narrowed her eyes at him and asked flatly, "Who said anything about a relationship? I was talking about fucking."

Chuck groaned and ran an exhausted hand through his hair. He was not touching that. It would undoubtedly lead to an argument between them. Carina still hadn't given up on somehow maneuvering him back into her bed. "Christ, Carina, do you always have to be so…so…you?"

"Yes," she growled, "now answer the damn question."

"Why is that any of your business?"

"Oh I don't know, Chuck, maybe because you can't be trusted if your judgment is already that far gone? Let alone if you actually think you could have a relationship with that bottle blonde bitch."

Maybe he had misjudged her intentions. Maybe she wasn't actually jealous. It was possible she was only concerned about his wellbeing and maintaining operational security, but he kind of doubted it. "No! I already told you no, okay?"

She still seemed highly skeptical of his sincerity but she at least seemed ready to drop the issue. "Fine. Then you – we – need to tell Beckman and Graham. They need to pull you from this assignment immediately," she said.

"They'll say no."

"Why the hell would they say no? Beckman has to unbunch her panties at even the mention of you in danger and Graham normally doesn't even like it when you go off-site for the missions. They should be jumping at the opportunity."

Chuck stopped his pacing and looked intently at Carina. "I figured it out, you know. It wasn't hard once I stopped and actually thought about it."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was you who helped Sarah get out of her cell." Carina's eyes widened and she burned red. "Don't bother denying it. I talked to White and Blue. You might be surprised about how much they're willing to tell me, especially when they resent being given orders not to really fight back." Chuck shook his head. "She could have killed them, Carina. What were you thinking?"

"Chuck, I can explain."

Chuck sighed. "Don't bother, Carina. I know you were just doing what they told you but you should have told them it was a dangerously stupid plan."

"How did you know?"

"I guess you could say I figured it out when she kissed me and I realized that they'd been playing me as much as they played her."

Carina only nodded her head and the last thing he was unsure about snapped into place. Of course she had known, about their plans at least. "It's why they tortured her first instead of just bringing me in from the very beginning." He paused and then swallowed carefully, like the words he was about to say were difficult to force to the surface. "I always wondered about that, you know. It didn't make much sense to me. I mean, our objectives were essentially the same, only mine were not designed to make her go through hell first. But no, they had to do it their way. They had to show that they were in control," he said angrily. "They wanted to soften her up, break her down, and screw up her mind to make her more vulnerable, so that when I came in, acting like the naïve idiot I am, she'd see me as some kind of savior. She'd open up to me, develop a connection with me, do what I say. All in an effort to make her easier to control and I fell right for it." He snorted in disgust. "Classic asset management technique." Chuck wasn't really sure if he was talking about himself or Sarah there.

"I just don't think they ever thought it would take this long or that you'd lose objectivity so fast. They told me that's what Bryce is for. They think another dose of the stick will make the carrot even more tempting."

Chuck just shook his head. "They're wrong; it'll only make her dig in her heels more. And if I know you, which I do," he said pointedly when she looked like she was about to object, "then you probably did your best to ruin all the work I've done up to this point."

Carina sighed, and then nodded reluctantly.

"Figures. Well, I guess it can't be helped now, but maybe I can mitigate the damage." He walked over to the Morgan Door and opened the window. "Come on, we're going to Casey's."

Carina scrambled after him; she looked concerned. She probably knew what he was thinking.

"Yeah, I'm going to talk to them." He stepped out the window and started off toward Casey's apartment. "Don't try and talk me out of it."

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said wryly from his side. "I do have a problem saying no to you after all."

Chuck didn't say anything, but he did burn a furious red.

# # # # #

Casey was not in his apartment, of course, or else he probably would have been at dinner. Knowing Casey, he would have come over with some flimsy excuse about needing this or that and then feigned surprise that they were having dinner. Ellie, of course, would have immediately invited him to stay, and after hemming and hawing for a few seconds, Casey would have quickly given in to Ellie's insistence. Then Casey would, of course, proceed to eat more than everyone else combined because he had a serious weakness for Ellie's cooking. Chuck was pretty sure that's why Casey had volunteered to stay behind and watch over his sister when he moved, instead of following him like Carina and Bryce had.

It was surprisingly easy for Carina to gain access to Casey's apartment. He could see the glee and satisfaction on her face as she broke in, probably imagining all the different ways she could tease Casey endlessly about his easy security. That was a potential fight in the making; he would have to keep an eye on them when Casey eventually found out what they'd done.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Casey. That was far too easy," Carina said, grinning.

Chuck just shook his head, more than a little pleased that the playful side to Carina was back out to play.

They quickly made their way to the large TV dominating one wall of Casey's apartment and Chuck immediately started to fiddle with it. He had no intention of wasting any time. Casey was sure to have some kind of remote alarm that let him know somebody was in his apartment without his permission. They only had a limited window before either he showed up himself, which was more likely as Casey wouldn't leave the potential cracking of skulls to someone else, or he'd send somebody who might shoot first and ask questions later.

He activated the necessary program to launch the videoconference with Beckman and Graham, and then entered his authorization codes.

They soon appeared and they were not surprised.

"I can't say this is unexpected, Mr. Bartowski," Beckman said drily.

Graham added with a chuckle, "If you had waited another 10 minutes, I would have had a free lunch."

Chuck rolled his eyes and only glared at them faintly. "I wish you guys had just told me what you intended from the beginning. You agreed when I started this job that I would not be kept in the dark about these kinds of things. It was part of our deal."

Humor vanished from both of their faces. "It was necessary that you appeared as authentic as possible, Chuck," Graham said. He was the only one of the two that ever addressed him by his first name. "And while we may grant you a little more leeway than many of our other operatives, you still work for us. We still make the call, regardless of whatever 'deal' we may have."

"I can turn her, sir. Or at least I could have before you guys screwed everything up."

Beckman said, "Agent Larkin did not interrogate her if that is your concern. They just talked. Reminisced, if you will, about past history."

"Why? Why would you even let him see her?"

"He was very insistent that he be allowed to talk to her. What he had to say seemed interesting, so I gave him the go-ahead despite how much I knew you'd not like it," Graham said. He sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his face. "We think he wants to partner back up with her if you can convince her to work for us."

Carina snorted and said derisively, "Bryce only sees pretty eyes and long legs. He probably can't stand the fact that nothing happened between them the first time around."

"That may be, but frankly, we're tempted to agree with his way of thinking. You may have Walker firmly under your control at the moment, Mr. Bartowski, but Larkin is probably the only agent we have that could keep up with her and if they were to develop some kind of sexual relationship…" Beckman trailed off and shrugged her shoulders. "That would only make keeping tabs on her easier."

"She won't agree. She doesn't want to turn; you have to give her incentive to do so. She will never agree if it's him or anyone else. It has to be me," Chuck argued.

He could feel Carina's eyes staring at him hard but he wouldn't look at her. He wouldn't. He was being entirely professional. That's all. He only wanted Sarah to work with him because that would be the most productive arrangement possible. It was logical. Pairing up the Intersect with a walking, talking, breathing Fulcrum database? How could anyone not see the potential benefit to that? He had no personal stake in the manner, and if the thought of Bryce and Sarah together happened to make him sick, well, that was probably him not liking the thought of losing control over such a valuable intelligence asset. That's all. He didn't mean an actual partnership with Sarah—Carina was his partner and always would be—but he knew that she would never agree to anything if anyone but himself was involved. Or he hoped she wouldn't.

"And just what do you suggest, Chuck? Bear in mind that the idea of pairing a former Fulcrum operative with highly dubious loyalties with the Intersect is not exactly our idea of a good time," Graham said drily.

"I have some ideas about how we could run things that would limit our liability. I was thinking…"

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _Choices, Part One_ - And so we begin the massive, unwieldy, overly wordy, overly long final arc to the first section of this part of the story. It's a trilogy! And like many trilogies, the middle chapter is the best. Unfortunately, you can't start in the middle because then it's not really the middle, is it? So what happens next? A lot of stuff: some crying, some lying, and a whole lotta dying.


	8. Choices, Part One

**Author's Note:** Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed. I always enjoy reading your opinions and ideas and I hope those of you haven't reviewed in the past will do so. I hope you like this chapter as much as the others. It was a difficult chapter to write, although nothing compared to the next two chapters.

This chapter is also Wepdiggy approved.

* * *

It was not the man she expected, nor wanted, that walked into her cell just before the dinner hour was set to begin.

Bryce Larkin was dressed in an immaculate, _very_ well tailored, pressed charcoal gray suit and clearly expensive shoes. Once he settled in front of her, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and nestled snugly to his right side was a holster complete with pistol. She was mildly surprised at the sight; he was the first person to visit her that ever had any kind of weapon on them. Not even the guards carried around her. He was either supremely confident that she couldn't attack and overwhelm him or supremely stupid. Due to her past history with the man, what little of it there was, she thought it some combination of the two.

The top button of his pressed shirt was undone and his tie haphazardly loose, his hair just slightly askew after a day of activity. Not for the first time she was struck by just how good looking he was. His eyes, especially, never failed to catch her attention. They were such a piercing, clear blue that she often found herself shivering as if cold when they passed over her. She felt herself sitting up a little straighter on her windowsill bench, and unconsciously did her best to fix her hair. Since she had learned about Chuck, she had not cared one bit about her appearance, but if Chuck looked at her as nothing more than a mark to play, there was always Bryce Larkin. At least _he_ seemed to see her as more than just a source of information. The man did not send as many mixed signals as Chuck did and it was plainly obvious what he wanted from her just from the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She could work with that.

He didn't say anything, just stood there looking relaxed. The silence quickly became too uncomfortable for her. What was he doing here? Did he only come to stare at her awkwardly? Or maybe he was here to rub in her face what Chuck had done to her. They were supposed to be friends from what she had been able to learn. And men like Chuck and Larkin tended to stick together.

Finally, she had to say something. "A bit over dressed for an interrogation, don't you think?"

Larkin started and looked down his body at his clothes. He flashed a tight smile and moved his hands to rest behind his back. "Sorry, just came from the office."

She arched an eyebrow at that. "The office?"

Larkin nodded his head and his smile gradually faded into a thin, hard to read line. "I work for Chuck."

Her eyes widened involuntarily. She almost sighed, but managed to fight that impulse down. It was getting so hard for her to keep herself under control these days. She would have never allowed herself to show such surprise at such relatively innocuous information before her capture, but now it felt like she was nothing more than an open book. "You work for Chuck?"

He shrugged his shoulders and walked over to her bed. He sat down on the side and relaxed onto the hard mattress. "Technically, we all do. Or, I should say, our cover identities do."

"I see," she said, but really didn't. "And just what exactly is it that you all 'do'?"

"Now, now, Sarah, you wouldn't be trying to fish for information, would you?" He asked with a surprisingly playful smile.

She flushed slightly and looked away briefly. Carina's words sounded off in her mind and she felt her spine stiffen and bitterness infuse her. "It's been made explicitly clear to me that it's highly unlikely I'll ever leave this place alive, so what does it matter if you tell me anything?"

He bowed his head at her in a gesture of concession. "A fair point." He sat up a little straighter and his eyes alighted with what she thought was eagerness. "I'll make a deal with you. I'll answer your questions about what's going on here, if I can, and in return, you answer some of mine."

"Deal," she said quickly. They both knew that very little actual information would be exchanged, but any chance to learn more about her situation was worth a little kernel of truth.

"Chuck owns and operates a…I guess the closest analogue would be a private security company that deals primarily with network security and database encryption and…well, I can't really tell you anymore than that."

His answer didn't surprise her in the slightest. Chuck Bartowski might have been a bit of an enigma to her, but she had easily picked up on his comfort with technology, not to mention his fondness for the more esoteric and obscure aspects of pop culture. There had been more times than she could count during conversation with him where he had mentioned things she had never even heard of. The extent of her familiarity with that world was her brief foray into comic books when she had done her research on Emma Frost. Other than that, she only had a limited knowledge of only the most mainstream of pop culture. There had been very little time in her life where she had been comfortable enough, or free enough, to watch a movie or read a book or listen to music that was newer than 10 years. How was she supposed to know who Malcolm Reynolds was or what a Cylon was or Call of Duty and what, or who, the hell was Doctor Who? Most of the time, she thought his passion was cute, but that didn't stop her from getting horribly confused.

"So if you work for Chuck, what do you do?" For some reason, she got a somewhat perverse thrill from knowing that Larkin, as well as Casey and Carina, all worked for Chuck. That had to rankle them a little bit; she knew it would rankle her. Probably, although she couldn't help but also feel pride that Chuck was the man in charge. She normally hated taking orders from anybody, especially people who didn't know how her job was normally done, and so the idea of even having to pretend to take orders from a tech geek kind of got under her skin. Maybe if it was Chuck…she shook away that thought. She had to remind herself that Chuck was dead to her now.

"I am the Executive Vice President of Sales and Product Development," Larkin said proudly. He even sat up a little straighter.

"And the others?" She was a little surprised that Larkin was being this forthcoming.

"Carina is the COO. Casey is, well, I think you can guess," he smiled slightly at that.

She snorted and almost cracked an answering smile in return. It was obvious what Casey's position would be. It was the only job he was probably suited for. There was no way that he was anything but the head of security. "How do you work with them? I want to kill the both of them, especially the bitch." Her face was contorted into a snarl and she had to rein her emotional control back in hurriedly.

Larkin smirked at that and looked extremely amused. "I see you've met Carina." He chuckled for a long time. "Dealing with the two of them is easy. You just have to learn to avoid certain buttons. Casey is easy if you just keep all contact with him as minimal as possible and Carina really only has one issue."

"Chuck," she said, again hating the bitterness in her voice.

He nodded his head. "Correct. As long as you stay out of her way and as long as you treat Chuck with respect, she's fairly harmless. After years, you learn to live with them."

She had no intention of ever learning to live with them, especially Carina. If it were up to her, Carina would just disappear. She suddenly perked up at a wicked thought. Maybe that could be her deal: Carina's head for all the information on Fulcrum she knew. Surely the CIA would go for that kind of tradeoff, right? But Chuck probably wouldn't approve of her having his handler killed. No! Chuck was a manipulative asshole, what did she care what he thought?

She had to stop thinking about Chuck. She had to start thinking about Larkin. "And what are your real jobs?"

"You know I can't tell you that," Larkin chastised her lightly. His normally cold eyes were warm and that took all the sting out of what might have been a harsh rebuke. "At least not until you've agreed to work for us again."

She shook her head vehemently. "Not going to happen."

"Suit yourself," he said. "Now it's my turn."

"What do you want to know?"

"Tell me what you remember of our time as partners."

She sighed and ran her hand through her messy hair. "I already told you I don't remember much."

"Try," he said tightly.

She shrugged her shoulders. If it meant so much to him, then she would make an effort. But she honestly couldn't remember much. It had been a long time ago and so much had happened since then that those early days seemed so inconsequential.

"I remember…the day we met. We were both at Langley, and I remember stepping into the Director's office…"

She continued on; the words meant very little to her, so she spent most of her time studying Larkin's eyes and reactions. During her recollection, he smiled the first really true smile she'd ever seen from the man and it made her ashamed that she didn't remember more.

# # # # #

She had not been looking forward to this day. The only surprise was that it had taken him so long to see her. He probably didn't like thinking about how all his plans had been ruined. He probably figured that she would just follow along blindly, doing whatever he wanted, like some mindless moron. The disgusting thing was, until Carina had visited her, he would have been right. He had probably never thought he'd have to work hard at all. If Carina could be believed, he did this stuff all the time, and he always succeeded. She hated to lose as well so she could only imagine what somebody that cold inside could be feeling. She had been played and played good.

Ever after all the obsessive thinking she'd done over the conversation, she still wasn't sure what Carina's objective had been. If she hadn't opened her mouth and let her know what Chuck had been doing to her, she would have continued on blissfully ignorant of the more obvious aspects of his manipulations. Apparently Carina cared more about protecting her asset than she did the mission. She found it hard to believe that Carina considered her that big a threat to Chuck, but Carina would have probably given her the same warning to stay away from Chuck if she had been some waifish, homely, terrified, nerdy analyst. She wasn't sure if she admired that or scorned it. Such dedication to the asset above all other things was just completely foreign to her; she had always believed the mission came first. She could never see herself becoming that compromised, and over a man of all things at that.

He had his chair and he was sitting in front of her. He looked sad and tired. Very tired. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair in disarray. His unassuming clothes were even more rumpled than usual and she could only feel satisfaction at seeing him so disheveled. For so long he had seemed unflappable, cool, and always composed. It was nice to see him going through a little of what she'd been experiencing since she started her stay at Hotel CIA, as she had taken to calling the place in her head. It was something little that Chuck probably would have done, which only irritated her. She was even picking up his annoying habits. They weren't even dating! She wanted to punch him right in the face for doing this to her.

He slumped in his seat and ran a weary hand though his hair. "We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you," she said flatly. She stared at a spot on the wall just over his shoulder. She refused to look at him. She was not going to give him an inch, because if she did, she knew she was pathetic enough that she'd cave and eat up whatever excuse he gave her with a spoon.

"Carina told me what you two talked about. Well, some of it at least. You can believe I wasn't happy when I found out what's been happening here behind my back."

"Oh I'm so sorry, have all your grand plans been ruined," she asked caustically. She still wouldn't look at him. She felt like her very life depended on her avoiding those eyes of his at this moment. She tried to think of Bryce Larkin and the conversation they had had earlier. She tried to think of how charming and good looking Larkin was. Of how he had never really pretended to be anything other than what he was. Or of how earnest he always seemed to be in wanting to know more of what she was like before she went rogue. But no matter how hard she tried to think those things, with Chuck actually in the room with her, she couldn't. His presence was just too consuming, the memory of what had transpired between them too strong. She could say all she wanted that Chuck meant nothing to her anymore, but when actually confronted by the man, all she could think was pain, sorrow, and regret. How she wished they had met under other circumstances.

Chuck shifted in the seat, trying to lock eyes with her but she deftly avoided him. He sighed when she wouldn't give in. "The only plan I ever had was to get you out of this place."

She snorted and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding when he gave up any pretense of trying to establish eye contact. "You're just like every other man I've ever met. You just want to screw me."

"I do not," he snapped angrily.

She arched an eyebrow and finally looked at his face, more than a little surprised—and despite every intention not to be, disappointed—at his denial. "Oh? So then what was that in the hallway?"

He stared at her in naked disbelief, his eyes wide. "You kissed ME!"

"So? You kissed back," she said stubbornly.

He ran a trembling hand through his hair roughly. "You know what? No. I am not going to argue with you over something that will never happen."

Never? She almost blurted out, 'Never say never, Chuck' but stopped herself in time. That would have been an absolute disaster. She was pissed at him, damn it. She had to get away from that line of thinking. She had to remember why they were having this conversation in the first place. "You've been manipulating me," she said offended and distraught, far more emotion in her voice than she intended.

Her vision started to blur slightly and she took several deep breaths. She forced the tears away. She would not be weak. She would be strong. She had already cried over Chuck once, she would not do it again.

She had so wanted Chuck to be different. She had wanted to believe him, that he was only there to be her friend. That he was there to save her. That he was her chance at some kind of redemption, no matter how small. Conveniently, she always seemed to forget that he was there for information too.

"Of course I have," he said angrily, harshly. His voice was strained and tight. His eyes, normally so open, were clouded and dark. She could not tell what he was thinking.

"So you admit it!" She felt so ridiculous, like some jealous girlfriend accusing her boyfriend of cheating even though she knew he was innocent. What was wrong with her?

If the part of her that was yearning to be a normal woman wasn't so hurt over what Chuck had done, the agent inside of her would be telling him how much she admired him. His work had been masterful, much better than she had expected coming from somebody so seemingly genuine. She had been—no, that wasn't fair—_was_ positive that he hadn't been acting. She hadn't lost her edge that much. Maybe he really did believe the crap he had been spewing and just was too stupid or naïve to realize what he was doing to her. But that wasn't right either, because he always knew the right thing to say, how to hit her in the right spots, how to twist her around his finger. Finally she had met a man who could give her a real challenge. She wanted lessons.

Of course the agent side of her was not the one in charge right now. The agent hadn't been in charge in quite some time.

"You work for Fulcrum," Chuck snapped. "What did you think this was all about, huh? Did you forget where you were?"

She had been back in her room for a while now. She apparently had Chuck to thank for that. As soon as he figured out she had been back in her hole, he had her immediately transferred. Or so the guards who handled her transfer claimed. Why they saw fit to tell her that, she had no idea, but she got the distinct sense that many of the guards liked and admired Chuck. Before, she would have been grateful, now she just saw it as another attempt to butter her up and make her more susceptible to him. She wasn't fooled or even grateful, even if she had not left the bench next to her window since she moved back in. She even slept there now, so desperate to see outside her walls that she couldn't turn away.

"Oh gee, Chuck, yeah, I forgot. I normally get stripped search by two men big enough to be trees to make sure I haven't somehow smuggled soap or a shank or a gun in places you'll now never get to know!" she yelled. Then she blinked and almost swore out loud. _Now_? Had she really said that? She was supposed to be mad at him, she was supposed to hate him, not still be thinking of him in that way. She shouldn't have been thinking of him like that in the first place.

Thankfully, Chuck gave no indication that he picked up on her slip. If anything, he got more agitated and jumpy; his right leg started to wobble up and down and he kept wiping his palms against his legs. Something told her that she was starting to see the real Chuck Bartowski, not the Carmichael persona that he apparently donned when he usually interacted with her.

"Well maybe you shouldn't have tried to escape," he grumbled, but there was very little condemnation in his voice.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "What was I supposed to do? Sit and wait for you to get bored and decide to kill me?" Then she glared at him. "Besides, we both know that was a setup. I was never going to actually get free."

Fire blazed in his eyes and he glared at her. "I would never kill you. Ever," he said with such impassioned finality that she had no choice but to believe him.

"Of course you wouldn't. You need what I've got in my head. That's all I am to you, an asset to exploit." She tried not to think about the Karmic payback that was unfolding before her eyes, but it was almost impossible not to. She had had something like this coming for a very long time.

"Goddamn it, Sarah, no! You are not just an asset to me."

"I don't believe you," she said.

She did, of course, because she was a sucker and a moron and a host of other adjectives that could not properly describe just how monumentally stupid she was. But she did believe him. Even after everything, she'd probably believe Chuck if he told her that Santa Claus was his next door neighbor and Elvis his mailman. She was so hopelessly pathetic.

"I am telling you the truth," he said.

Anger flared insider of her and she snapped, "That's bullshit! You've been lying to me since the day we met," she said bitterly.

"I told you before that I would always try to be honest with you and I meant it. I have never told you a lie. I may have kept certain things from you or never explained my motivations in detail, but I didn't lie."

"I thought you wanted to be my friend. That's what you always told me. You just wanted to be my friend. That you wanted to help me!" This time she didn't even try to mask the bitterness in her words.

Chuck lowered his head until his chin was touching his chest. He sighed and seemed to slump even more into the chair. "I do want to be your friend, Sarah. I want to help you. I never lied about that. But I also want you to work for us."

"So Larkin wasn't lying."

Chuck's head flew up and he stared at her hard. "What did Bryce say to you?"

She blinked at the vehemence of his reaction to Bryce Larkin's name. There was clearly something there. Did Chuck actually not like somebody? She couldn't believe that was possible. Chuck liked everybody; he had not once shown any animosity toward her and she doubted that Larkin had ever done anything as bad as the things she'd done in her life.

She decided to explore this newfound knowledge. Maybe she could finally get some understanding of Chuck's thought process. Carefully, watching his reaction, she said, "He wants to be my partner again." Getting the hoped for reaction, Chuck's face soured and she added, "He never came out and said that directly, of course, but I could tell that was the general idea."

"And how do you feel about that?" He asked flatly.

She shrugged and tried to look like she was at least somewhat interested in the idea. The truth was, she was somewhat tempted. Not very much, but she couldn't deny being intrigued by the idea of working with somebody like Larkin, somebody who could challenge her and keep up with her. "He's a good looking guy." Chuck's eyes narrowed. "And he seems like somebody who knows what they're doing." Chuck slumped and looked defeated. She was really starting to feel bad over doing this to him, but she figured he deserved it after manipulating her. Besides, she really wanted to know why Chuck was reacting this way. He wasn't jealous, was he? The idea actually thrilled her and she tried not to let her excitement show. It was a nice feeling that she wasn't the only who got jealous—the idea of Chuck and Carina together nauseated her and infuriated her. She had to force herself to speak with feigned nonchalance so she wouldn't give herself away, and besides, she was supposed to be pissed at him wasn't she? "Who knows, might be fun."

Chuck opened his eyes and they were guarded again, but there was also a look of acceptance that confused her. "So that's what you want?"

She looked away from Chuck's searching eyes. He couldn't see what she was thinking. She didn't want him to see the pain and hope and anger mixing into one in her eyes. She liked seeing him squirm, it was the least she owed him after all he'd done to her, but she didn't like seeing the same kaleidoscope of pain and anger in her eyes reflected in his. "If it gets me away from you, I'm all for it."

"You didn't seem to feel that way a few days ago," he said with a blush.

She felt her own face warm at the memory of that kiss. She couldn't lie and say that kiss had meant nothing—it had meant everything, at least at the time—but she also couldn't show how much it had affected her. "That was before I learned the truth."

Chuck took a deep breath and then let it out slowly in frustration. His body stilled and he placed too-calm hands on his knees. "I see." This had not been the kind of reaction she had hoped for. He was far too composed and accepting of something that was supposed to be bothering him. He stood up slowly, his eyes locked on his feet the whole time. He mumbled to himself, "I guess I was wrong. Carina was right about me, I really don't know what I was thinking."

Then Chuck lifted his head and stared at her with intense, cool eyes. "I will talk to my superiors, but I think I can already tell you what they're going to say. You will probably be reinstated as a probationary field agent with a temporary clearance. Bryce will handle your debrief and they will probably make him your new partner. If you're smart, you will tell him everything you know of Fulcrum's upper echelon: names, locations, current operations, and all known operatives. You should be as thorough as possible; the more complete you are, the more likely your new superiors will accept your change of heart as genuine," he recited rather robotically.

Her eyes widened with every new sentence and she felt her stomach sinking with every additional word. "Knowing them, they'll probably come up with some ridiculous cover story for you, like being an old college girlfriend of Bryce. They'll have you say something like you just happened to be passing through Los Angeles on business and suddenly remembered that Bryce lived in L.A. so you decided to look him up. Despite not seeing each other for years, and Bryce already being involved with somebody," he said scornfully, each sentence becoming increasingly bitter, "you'll miraculously immediately reconnect, and because you live in D.C., Bryce will have to follow you there if he wants to maintain your new relationship. From there, they'll probably give you both a deep cover assignment and that is as much as I know or care to think about."

"Wait, what?" She was so stunned by his words she couldn't think straight. Reinstatement? Bryce? Washington D.C.? Cover _girlfriend_!? What the hell was going on?

Some life returned to Chuck's cold eyes, but it was the kind of emotion she wished she hadn't seen. It was all pain and dejection; it was disappointment. "You are getting what you wanted. After I leave this room, it is likely you will never see me again."

What? No! That was the last thing she wanted! She scrambled off of her seat and practically flew toward Chuck but he stepped away from her quickly with a harsh look and raised his hand to ward her away. She stopped well short of him but she was a ball of nervous energy, hands straining to reach out toward the man in front of her, desperate to shake some sense into him. She had only wanted to make him jealous, not leave her. "Chuck, no! What's going on?" She asked desperately. "This is all happening so fast. You can't leave! I'm being reinstated? I haven't even agreed to anything yet!"

"You will. You don't really have much choice." He reached out and brushed some hair away from her eyes. She flinched initially at the contact, but quickly relaxed as his fingers lingered longer than necessary on her cheek. "I designed things that way. Of course, my plans were a little different than this, but you're right. You don't trust me, you can't trust me." He pulled his hand away slowly and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants. He looked away. "You don't trust Bryce either, I'm sure, but at least with him you will have a more or less fresh start. Besides, he's better suited for you anyway."

What the hell did that mean? She didn't even like Larkin, not really. Yeah, he was good looking and she could tell that he was a competent agent, but there was often very little in those dispassionate eyes of his but ice. It was like looking in a mirror and the last thing she wanted to be reminded of was herself.

She folded her arms under her breasts and glared at Chuck in contempt. "So that's it then? You're just going to leave? Got what you wanted and now you don't need me anymore?" She didn't really mean those words, but she had to do something to jar him out of this idiotic idea of his. Maybe if she made him angry enough he'd see reason.

Instead of the reaction that she was expecting, more anger and indignation, he simply nodded his head. "That's right, Walker. You were nothing but a mark. That's all."

Her mouth dropped open in shock and her vision blurred. She wasn't going to cry. Not again. And certainly not over him. She was tired of crying over Chuck Bartowski.

Without another word, he turned around, grabbed his chair, and left.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _Choices, Part Two_ - So will Sarah ever see Chuck again? Eh...probably.


	9. Choices, Part Two

**Author's Note:** So like guys, I'm kinda a liar. See, I told you that the end of this arc was going to be a trilogy. Turns out, not so true. It's not entirely my fault. I sent this part to **Wepdiggy** and he convinced me through his superior intellect and knowledge of fanfiction, that the 10,000 word chapter would be better digested if it were broken into two parts. Unfortunately, I am weak minded (a Jedi would have a field day with me) so of course I listened to him. Now Chapter 9, which was originally one part, is now two! Right now, we're looking at a quadrilogy. Is that even a word?

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. Every time I think you guys can't surprise me, you convince me otherwise. Most reviewed chapter yet! Awesome. But really, guys, did you think I'd actually keep Chuck and Sarah apart? I'm a Charah shipper through and through. Most of the time. Then again, there is that weak mind thing...

Okay, here's the deal. If the response to this chapter is as good as the response was to the last chapter, I'll update the second part to this chapter quickly. I think you'll like it.

* * *

The klaxon jarred her from sleep.

She bolted upright, hand holding an imaginary gun pointed toward the door of her room before she realized where she was and that she had no gun in her hand.

She threw her covers to the side and slid bare feet onto the rough carpet of her room. She rubbed sleep from her eyes and tried to force herself alert and awake as fast as she could.

Dim red light from the emergency lights in her room flooded the place giving her room an eerie glow. It was just bright enough to prevent her from stubbing her toe on the furniture in her room. If she had any furniture.

An alarm was always a bad thing.

If this was a repeat of her aborted prison escape, she was going to be very upset. She was really getting tired of being played with. It seemed every time she went to sleep and then woke up, something had wildly changed in her life. The only thing she really wanted consistency with, namely Chuck Bartowski, was an always changing whirlpool of emotions and intentions. Just when she thought she was finally going to pin him down, he managed to completely turn her on her head.

Since his visit yesterday, she had obsessed over what he told her. That she might never see him again had depressed and confused her enough. Add to that the fact that she apparently had no choice but to rejoin the CIA and work with Bryce Larkin as his cover girlfriend, seriously annoyed her. She didn't want to be anyone's cover girlfriend, no matter how much she might have familiarity with the concept, and she certainly didn't want to be partnered with Larkin. She did not like the way Chuck seemed so upset and out of sorts with the idea of her with him. If Chuck had a problem with the situation, there was no way it could be good. But as Chuck had made clear to her, there was not much she could do, and if Chuck had wiped his hands of her, she was out of options.

Why did that thought bother her so much? She should be happy that Chuck would finally be out of her life. That's all she had said she wanted since meeting him. Not because he was cruel or demanding or hard, but because he was the opposite and that made him dangerous to her. Every time she thought about never seeing him again though, a feeling of emptiness and painful loneliness nearly overwhelmed her. She wanted—no, needed—Chuck in her life in some way, if only as a friend. She was not naïve enough to think there was a chance at a real relationship there, but she could not deny any more the longing she felt deep inside for some kind, any kind, of genuine human companionship. She could never go back to her old life now, not after everything that had happened to her. Not after all the changes that Chuck had wrought inside of her. She was finally caring about something other than survival for once and she desperately wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible.

She was not going to wait for somebody to sneak into her room this time. It was time she became a little more proactive. For too long she had let things happen to her instead of because of her. If she was going to make sure that she got the kind of arrangement she wanted—Chuck sticking around—then she needed to take some control over how things were going to be. She had to stop reacting and simply…act. There had to be something she could do to leverage her way to what she wanted. Unfortunately, it was probably too risky to start giving information until she found herself in a stronger bargaining position and that was going to be very difficult to come by. Maybe if she had a hostage… She dismissed that thought. It was an old way of thinking. Taking a hostage would undoubtedly only make things worse. Chuck would not approve of that anyway.

Still, it would be a good idea to prepare for any eventuality.

In case this was another game by Carina, she walked over to the door. She readied herself for anything, but hoped that nothing happened. Her muscles were still too atrophied to be of much help. She doubted she could take on three guards again. At least not without the element of surprise, that was why she was taking up position now.

The door slowly opened and she tensed, spreading her feet out and adjusting her balance. Through the open doorway she could see the same sickly yellow light that had been there the last time her door opened during the middle of the night. As quietly as she could, while still in the red darkness before the light from the doorway reached farther into the room, she slipped deeper into the blackness behind the open door so that she could attack whoever came through the door from behind.

She thought she heard the distant din of explosions and gunfire, but with the klaxon sounding so loud her teeth hurt and the pounding of her own heart beating like a drum, she couldn't be sure what she was hearing.

A figure stepped partially through the doorway; male and tall. He stopped only about a foot from the door, holding it open with his right hand, clearly peering into her room, looking for her.

"Sarah?" the man said loudly and she tensed.

Chuck. The man was Chuck.

She relaxed her attack posture and reached out to gently touch his shoulder. He jumped a foot into the air and screamed. Somehow, despite turning completely around to face her, he didn't lose his hold on the door. She couldn't help it, she laughed at the wild look on his surprised face. He really wasn't an agent like her that was for sure. An agent wouldn't have screamed like a girl. No matter what he had done or said to her, he wasn't her. She could take comfort in that at least.

"Holy crap, Sarah, you scared me!" he yelled.

"Sorry," she said unapologetically and tried not to grin. "But you should know better than to try and sneak into an agent's room while they're sleeping."

He gaped at her and shifted uneasily. "Sneak? It's so loud in here I can't hear myself think," he said loudly. He indicated the door he was still holding open with his right hand. "Besides, if I were trying to sneak into your room, I would not have stopped in front of the door and called out your name," he said.

She shrugged her shoulders and this time gave him a small smile. He must be nervous if he was babbling. Of course, that thought made her immediately stop smiling, and she adopted a more serious and business-like demeanor. "What's going on, Chuck?" She had forgotten to raise her voice so she had to repeat her question.

"The facility is under attack," he said matter of fact.

So that _had_ been gunfire she heard earlier. Amazing. Maybe CIA security wasn't so incredible after all. Had Tommy, or far more likely his replacement, actually done something right for once? She found that hard to believe but Fulcrum had to be the only ones capable of launching an attack like this.

"Fulcrum?" she asked.

"We believe…," the alarm suddenly cut off so Chuck was still talking loudly when he finished his sentence, "so." He blushed slightly at how loud he was yelling. Nervously, he looked back outside the doorway, checked both sides of the hallway, and then closed the door. Now that there was no alarm to mask whatever noises they might make, he was probably worried about being discovered.

"What are you doing? Now you can't get out!" Even after everything, she was still primarily concerned about him and his safety; after the lies and manipulations, the back and forth accusations, the ulterior motives, and it still didn't matter. Being locked inside her cell might keep whoever was outside out, but who was going to protect him from her?

She got a brief glimpse of a potential future then: Her always trying to keep Chuck safe, always looking out for him, always worrying herself to death over him, and he never listening, always risking his life for her, always going his own way no matter how much she begged him not to, her always saying no to him and then always caving. It seemed a bleak, anxiety filled future, but for some reason, it excited and comforted her. She couldn't explain it, couldn't understand why she looked forward to a future of the two of them together, even if meant a stress-induced early grave. It seemed like it was never going to matter what he did to her, she was always going to be weak when it came to him.

But then that future would probably never happen.

He actually smiled at her. At least she thought he did, it was hard to see in the dim red light of the room. "Don't worry, I've got a key."

She looked at him skeptically. There was not even a keyhole on this side of the door. Just what kind of key did he have?

Chuck grabbed her arm gently and said, "Look, Sarah, we don't really have time to debate the merits of my presence here. Fulcrum is attacking the facility, which means one of two things."

"They're here to rescue me," she supplied. She wasn't exactly a fan of that thought. On the one hand, she wanted out of this place and she wanted out right now. She was not made for captivity; she belonged in the wild. On the other hand, the simple fact was that she didn't want to leave Chuck no matter how much their situation was screwed up. If Fulcrum broke her out of her prison, she would never see Chuck again. To make matters worse, they would once again be on opposite sides. Not that they weren't already on opposite sides, but the more time she spent in her cell, the more time she spent with Chuck, the less she felt like a Fulcrum agent. Chuck often made her forget even why she was with Fulcrum to begin with.

Chuck nodded his head. "Yes, or failing that, to kill you."

"How do you know they're after me?"

"Because you're the only one here."

"Oh." She got a whole CIA facility to herself? Wow, wasn't she special? "So then why are you here, Chuck? Are you here to protect me?"

She didn't really mean to sound so derisive of his abilities to guard her, but as much as she liked and admired Chuck, she didn't think highly trained combat abilities was one of his many skills. If the way he had jumped in surprise earlier was any indication, he certainly didn't have nerves of steel.

Chuck let go of her arm and moved a hand to his back. He pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants and held it firmly, if not carefully, in his hand. "We can't really let Fulcrum take you back, Sarah. You are simply too valuable to fall back into their hands."

"Ah, so you're not here to protect me but to kill me." She was surprised to realize that that thought didn't really bother her. Not like it used to. She thought it would, that she would be fighting tooth and nail against any attempt on her life, but she was just so tired of everything now. Maybe if Chuck hadn't told her what her future would be: indentured servitude with a man she wanted little to do with. Maybe if Chuck hadn't done a number on her emotional psyche. Maybe if she actually had something worth living for. She wasn't sure she did have anything worth fighting for anymore.

"I'm getting really tired of you accusing me of trying to kill you, Sarah. Do you think that if I actually wanted you dead, I couldn't have arranged something before now? Killing you is the last thing I want, so stop accusing me!" He yelled at her.

"I'm sorry…"

Chuck cut her off with an angry wave of his hand. "We don't have time for this. Fulcrum agents are attacking the facility, people I work with, people I care about, are probably dying right now, and if Fulcrum knew enough to find this facility, then there's a good bet they know where you're being held. We need to go," he snapped at her. He shook his head and muttered unintelligibly under his breath. He suddenly focused on her, his eyes intense. "Here, take it," he said and practically shoved the pistol into her hands. "It's loaded in case you were wondering," he said scornfully.

Sarah blinked, looked down at the matte black Glock 17 in her hand, then back up at Chuck, then back down at the gun, then back up at Chuck. She was pretty sure her brain was officially broken. That had been the absolutely last thing she had _ever_ expected Chuck to do.

"You're giving _me_ the gun?"

He shrugged his shoulders self-consciously. "Well…yeah. I hate the damn things. They freak me out and I figure we'll have a better chance of getting you out of here in one piece if you're the one with the gun."

"You're going to help me escape?" she asked shocked.

"No." Then he swallowed and then said, "Well, that's not exactly Plan A. I was actually really hoping you would come with me and hide out in the facility's safe room." Then he shrugged and sighed. "But if you weren't willing to do that, then yes, I would help you escape." He placed a hand on her arm again and she found herself leaning closer to him. "I really don't think you like working for Fulcrum, Sarah, so I'd like to think if you were free of them, you'd stay away. Maybe you could even begin some kind of normal life, free of all of this. And besides, I can't kill you, I don't want to kill you, so if we can't have you, at least I can make sure that they can't have you either."

"You really do believe in me that much."

Chuck shrugged and smiled weakly. "Even Darth Vader returned to the Light side of the Force before the end."

"The real world doesn't always work like it does in the movies, Chuck. Sometimes, people don't change. Sometimes, they _can't_ change."

"I don't believe that."

"You're really that willing to risk your life for me?" She could not wrap her mind around what he was saying. Nobody in her life had ever believed in her that much.

"In my mind, it's not really a risk, okay?" He frowned and added impatiently, "Look, I don't know who's attacking us and I don't know what they want. Maybe they're here to rescue you or maybe they're here to kill you or maybe something else entirely. Either way, I'm not willing to risk your life on I don't knows and maybes. Are you?" He squeezed her arm a little painfully. "That's all I care about."

She extricated her arm from his grip and put some distance between them; it was necessary for her to properly think about what he was saying.

She ejected the magazine from the Glock, checked to make sure that it was indeed full of rounds, and then slammed the magazine back into place. She chambered a round and held the gun like an extension of her own hand. She felt like a piece of her had been missing and was now back where it was supposed to be.

Then she lifted the gun and pointed it right at Chuck's chest. He seemed totally unfazed, his attention turned back to the closed door and what might be happening outside rather than the fact that she was pointing a gun at him. So it was back to this, was it? Truthfully, she was a little grateful. Carmichael was easier to handle; she understood him—as much as it was possible to understand any facet of Chuck Bartowski—much better than she had ever understood the more real part of Chuck. Certainly better than trying to understand why somebody who really shouldn't believe in her, did.

"What's your angle, Chuck?"

Chuck briefly looked at her, lowered his eyes to the gun, and then went back to staring more at the door. It was like he was waiting for something. "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't give me that," she barked out angrily. "I'd like to believe you, I really would, but you've burned me before. You always have an angle, I've learned that much. Everything you do has some ulterior motive."

He looked annoyed and reached out to push the gun down until it was pointed at the ground. "My angle, if it can be called one, is the same thing it's always been: getting you out of this cell and back into the world, working for the good guys again."

She angrily lifted the gun a second time and this time pointed it at his head. "Stop it! Since the day I met you, you've been lying to me. Stop telling me that you want to help me, it's not true!" She was starting to sound a little wild and high pitched so she forced herself to breathe more levelly. She needed to stay in control. "Is this even a real attack? Or is this just another one of your plans to make me tamer?"

She wasn't really sure where this doubt and anger were coming from. Just a few seconds ago, she had been willing to do anything to stick close to Chuck and now she was pointing a gun at his head. Perhaps it was because for the first time since getting captured, she had the ability to affect real change in her life. With the gun that Chuck gave her in her hand, she could finally dictate the actions of her own life once again. She had power, she had control, and she was back in her element. It was too much like her old life, the life she no longer really wanted, and she got nauseous. But her aim did not waver. Maybe Chuck would finally give her the straight, unvarnished truth she had been so desperate for if he thought his life was actually on the line. She could not actually shoot him, but he didn't need to know that.

Chuck snapped. There was no better word to describe what happened. One second he was standing just as he had since stepping into the room, head shifting from looking at her to looking anxiously at the door, and the next second, the gun had been transferred back from her hand to his and she was pressed face first into the nearest wall, left arm wrenched behind her back and his body pressed against hers, arm digging painfully against the back of her neck, doing his best to forcefully merge her with the wall. He was bristling with such barely contained anger that she was genuinely afraid for her life. One wrong move and she was sure he would actually hurt her. She was immobilized, and even if she had wanted to struggle, she didn't think she had the strength to dislodge him. Not to mention she had absolutely no idea what had just happened.

Chuck leaned close, his mouth hovering just over her right ear, and she shivered as warm breath cascaded over her. He spoke in a low, tight, frustrated voice. "Now listen to me, Sarah Walker. Are you listening?" He pulled extra hard on her arm to emphasize his question. She gulped and nodded her head once. This was a side of Chuck that she didn't even think existed. He had completely blindsided her.

"Since the day I met you, you've been nothing but a pain in my ass. Yet for some reason I have yet to understand, I can't seem to stay away from you. I don't get it, I've tried to, believe me, and my life would be a hell of a lot simpler if I could just stop thinking of you. But I can't and so here I am, once again risking my ass, my family, my whole life on you and all you've managed to do is question every action I take." He stopped ranting briefly to take in a big breath. "What I want from you is simple: stop working for the bad guys and come work for me. You don't have to like the CIA, hell, most of the time I don't even like them. And I know what they did to you, so I get it; I even understand why you started working for Fulcrum in the first place. What they did to your father was wrong and what they did to you even worse, but two wrongs don't make a right and it needs to stop. You want to make it out of this facility alive? Work for us, Sarah."

"Can I speak?" she rasped out. It was all she could do not to break down at the sensory overload that was threatening to overtake her. She didn't even care that Chuck was ordering her around and had probably irrevocably shattered the power dynamic between them. She was still scrambling to wrap her head around the fact that Chuck had pinned her to the wall seemingly effortlessly.

"Yes," he growled into her ear and she shivered again. She was getting inappropriately turned on and that was not what she should be thinking about right now.

She swallowed slowly and thought hard about what she was going to say. She desperately didn't want to mess this up. "Chuck, I'm sorry, okay? But you have got me so screwed up, pulling me in all different directions, and I don't know what to think. You tell me to come work for you, but you told me earlier that Larkin was going to be my partner. I don't…I mean…Chuck, nobody has ever cared so much about what happens to me. I don't understand it." She really hoped that the last part hadn't come out as pathetic and weak as it sounded.

The hold on her arm loosened and he removed the arm from pressing down on her neck, and even though she couldn't really see him, she could sense him gradually relaxing. He was starting to breathe much more slowly and when he started to talk, the anger was mostly gone. "It's called being human, Sarah. I want to help you because that's what people do. Nobody should just be discarded like…trash. That's not right. Yeah, you've done bad things and hurt people that didn't deserve it, so what?"

Thoughts were racing through her head at a million miles a second, trying to understand just what Chuck was saying. "You think anybody that works in this business is a saint? You think that Bryce or Carina or Casey, or hell, even me, haven't done stuff we regret or wish we could take back? You think that we haven't done stuff that would make the people we sacrifice for every day look at us with disgust and horror? Let me tell you something I learned a long time ago: it's not what you do that matters but who you are inside. Some day you will have to answer for your crimes, but not to me."

He put some distance between them but he still held her to the wall. He sighed loudly and tiredly whispered, "As for Bryce, I was jealous; which is ridiculous, because I have nothing to be jealous over. I thought Bryce was what you wanted, and I was going to give you him. But I was just being stupid; really, really stupid." He sighed again and sounded like a man that had aged 30 years, "The way he makes me feel sometimes…" He paused and, probably for her benefit, added, "A long time ago I once loved a girl and thought I would spend the rest of my life with her. She cheated on me with Bryce. So you can imagine what the thought of you and him together does to me, even if I know that nothing will ever happen between us. In my mind, it's like it's happening all over again."

He let go of her arm completely and gently turned her around until her back was against the wall. He grabbed her upper arms and pressed her against the wall until she was flush against it and he was flush against her. His eyes stared into hers, full of passion and an emotion that she couldn't identify. "I believe that somewhere, deep inside of you, there is a good person desperately trying to claw its way out. I believe that you don't want to work for Fulcrum, and that you've stopped caring about anything but living for the next day. Let me give you a purpose. Let me help you reclaim a life you lost. I can make you feel proud about what you do again. Work for me, and we can stop Fulcrum. I can help you, Sarah. Let me help you," he pleaded.

"Make me a promise," she said.

"At this point, Sarah, I think I would be willing to pretty much promise you anything if it means you'll start to see reason," he said wryly.

She smiled faintly at him but knew that it didn't reach her eyes. It was time to put all her cards on the table and hope for the best. "I will make a real effort to trust you, I mean really trust you, and I will tell you everything I know about Fulcrum. Everything. But, in return, I will only work with you. You are the only one I am willing to try trusting, and if you promise me that, I'm your girl."

"I think that can be arranged. You'll be a great addition to the team," he said in relief.

"No, Chuck, you don't understand. If that is not the arrangement, then you will get nothing from me. I mean it." She paused, debated internally if she should continue, and ultimately decided that she might as well go for broke. He had pretty much poured his heart out to her, he deserved she do the same. So she told him exactly what she wanted. "That means YOU will be my partner. YOU will debrief me. YOU will be my cover boyfriend," realizing what she said, she hastily clarified, "or whatever other cover they determine for us. Only you, Chuck. That's my one condition."

"Sarah…" Chuck hesitated. "Carina's my partner."

"No, she's your _handler_."

"We don't really make a distinction between the two," Chuck argued.

"Doesn't matter," she said stubbornly. She wasn't about to let Chuck's bitch of a handler stand between her and what she wanted. "A handler is not your partner. They are not your friend. A handler is only there to make sure you do what they want and are only around as long as you maintain your value as an asset. You may think that Carina is your friend, but I assure you, she is not. She is only acting like your friend. It's just another means of controlling you," she said harshly. She couldn't help but still feel resentment and anger over Chuck doing the same thing to her. She couldn't understand why he didn't see the similarities in their actions.

Chuck stepped away from her and frowned. "You don't know what you're talking about, Sarah."

She tightened her mouth and fought down the urge to press him harder. She could tell she might actually lose him over this. His affection for Carina was a problem but she was confident she could break him of that eventually. All she needed was the opportunity to spend time around him as much as possible and she could replace Carina in his life. She was not about to let Carina stop her from getting what she wanted.

"Okay." It was all she said. It was all she could say. The rest would come later.

Chuck instantly brightened. "Really?"

"Yes."

"You understand that while I fully intend to help you every step of the way, Carina will always be my partner, right?"

She sighed and nodded her head reluctantly. "I get it."

"Great!" Chuck smiled brightly at her and she felt her stomach flutter. God, she loved that smile. "Let's get you out of here."

"How? The door is locked."

Chuck grinned and all of a sudden somebody was knocking on her cell door. Chuck rapped out a corresponding knock and the door slowly opened, sickly yellow light cascading into the room.

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**Next Chapter...er, part:** _Choices Part Three_ (or alternatively, _Choices Part Two-B_) - It's an action extravaganza! Who's on the other side of the door? A 100 points to the first person who guesses right! What will happen with the attack? Will Chuck and Sarah survive? Dun-dun-dun!


	10. Choices, Part Three

**Author's Note:** I was genuinely surprised that only one person guessed correctly who was at the door. And so those 100 points go to **NickyR** for their right answer.

Big thank you to **Wepdiggy** for the help on the chapter. I already mentioned it was his brilliant idea to break this thing up into two parts and I think this part of the chapter is better for it. If you like AUs, and since you're reading this story I can only assume you do, you should check out his own AU _Chuck The College Years_. It's awesome.

Speaking of awesome, let me just say that you guys do the good Captain proud. Again, your reviews have been fantastic. And since the response was so fantastic, I decided to actually follow through with my promise and update quickly. It gives me a warm feeling inside to know that you guys are digging my story. Thank you!

* * *

_"Great!" Chuck smiled brightly at her and she felt her stomach flutter. God, she loved that smile. "Let's get you out of here."_

_"How? The door is locked."_

_Chuck grinned and all of a sudden somebody was knocking on her cell door. Chuck rapped out a corresponding knock and the door slowly opened, sickly yellow light cascading into the room._

Bryce Larkin was standing in the now open doorway, a gun in hand and a cool smile on his face.

If she needed more proof that she would probably never understand Chuck Bartowski, Bryce Larkin being on the other side of her cell door was more than enough evidence to show that she never would. After what he had just told her about the past history between the two men, she couldn't imagine being in the same room as Larkin without wanting to bash his head in, and yet somehow, Chuck was still able to be around the man, let alone consider him a friend. If somebody in her life had done to her what Larkin had done to Chuck, she wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't kill them.

Larkin looked over his shoulder to check the hallway and then looked back at the two of them. "I hope you appreciate what I'm doing for you, Chuck. If Carina finds out I helped you break out of the safe room so you could come here, I think I'll probably live longer if I just turn myself over to Fulcrum now."

Chuck smiled and actually chuckled. "Bryce, if Carina finds out what I'm doing, I'll make the call to Fulcrum myself."

Chuck started to walk through the doorway but she put out an arm to block his path. "Hold on. You left your safe room so that you could come and get me?"

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and blushed slightly. "Well…yeah."

If Larkin hadn't been standing impatiently right next to them, she felt like she could have kissed Chuck right then and there. As it was, she would have to wait until they were alone before she could properly tell him just what his actions meant to her. For the time being, she would just have to do her best to make sure he got back to that safe room alive and in one piece.

"I don't think I will ever understand you, Chuck."

Larkin snorted in affectionate amusement. "Good luck. I've known our boy Chuck for years and I still don't know how his mind works."

She glared at Larkin and snapped out, "Don't talk to me, Larkin."

He gave her an unreadable look but quickly shifted his focus elsewhere. The three of them had started down the hallway, Larkin on the right and her on the left, with Chuck safely trailing behind them. The two of them had automatically taken up protective stances over Chuck and seemed to move instinctively well together. Despite that, her uncomfortable feelings for Bryce Larkin had only grown after learning what he had done to Chuck.

"By the way, Chuck, I'm just curious, but why, exactly, does Walker have the gun I gave specifically to you?" Larkin asked in a tight, overtly nonchalant tone.

"Uh…well, you know…um, I figured she needed it more than me."

Larkin held up a hand and all three of them stopped, not making a sound. He slowly peeked his head around a corner and after seeing that it was clear, motioned them to keep going. "Chuck, if Casey discovers you gave one of his guns to _her_, he'll make whatever Carina does to you look like a relaxing day at the beach."

"I don't care," Chuck insisted, and it really sounded like he didn't. And if Carina was right about the way Casey felt about Chuck, she doubted he had much to worry about. Although she found it hard to believe that Casey was even capable of any human emotion other than rage or hate after all the time they had spent together, but she supposed her opinion of the man was colored by the fact that he had tortured her. And that she had killed his partner…

Larkin sighed and sent her a series of hand signals that she quickly interpreted to mean: _Watch out, possible enemy contact around the corner_. They both burst around the corner, weapons at the ready, but only came across a dead security guard. The man was CIA; she recognized the man as one of the ever changing guards who took her to her showers. She quickly searched his body for anything useful and found nothing. She didn't like the implication that Fulcrum had already penetrated this far into the facility and felt the hair on the back of her neck tingle in worry. They could be anywhere.

They continued on their way, but she started paying more attention to her surroundings. She had gotten rusty over the weeks in captivity, but she was still one of the best.

Larkin, meanwhile, was still talking to Chuck. "I gave you the gun for a reason, Chuck."

"And I gave it to Sarah for a reason too."

Larkin turned his head briefly to look at her in confusion, his eyes quickly going back to scanning the hallway. It was quite obvious he didn't really understand, but then she sympathized, because she didn't really understand either. The sound of violence continued to grow louder. "Are you sure that was a good idea, Chuck?"

She noticed that Larkin very carefully did not look at her as he asked that question.

"You're one to talk about trust, Larkin," she snapped. She didn't really mean to, the man was completely right to be cautious and suspicious of her. But it still rankled that _he_ was calling into question her intentions. She wasn't the one that had betrayed her best friend.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

She didn't say a thing. It would probably be better for all of them if she kept her mouth shut. She had already said too much. Getting into a fight with Larkin at the moment was just stupid.

Chuck piped up from behind them, "I told her about you and Jill."

Larkin groaned loudly and looked over his shoulder to glare at Chuck. "What did you do that for?"

Chuck shrugged. "I don't think you had much of a chance anyway, Bryce."

Larkin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling crookedly too. "Carina is going to be so disappointed. She's been trying to get rid of me for years."

They made no sense. Men! How Chuck could be so friendly toward a man that caused him so much pain was completely beyond her understanding. She huffed, "Would you two shut up?"

Even though she had started the conversation, she felt put off that they weren't giving it the same kind of gravity she was. It was serious! How could they just banter about it like it didn't mean anything? And since when did she start caring about honesty and loyalty. The fact that she was even getting upset over it was only because it had happened to Chuck, at least showed that she hadn't changed that much. She wasn't really growing a conscience, she was just defending Chuck. It was completely different.

"Like you're some kind of saint, Walker," Larkin growled. "How many relationships have you destroyed?"

Chuck quickly jumped in, probably afraid that they would start fighting each other instead of keeping an eye out for Fulcrum. "It's okay, Sarah. As you can see, I made peace with Bryce a long time ago. You'd be surprised how much closure a punch to the face can bring."

Larkin let out a surprisingly warm laugh, a hand coming up to rub his chin. "That was a hell of a right cross. Damn." He laughed again, clearly remembering the incident. "I never did thank you for that. If you hadn't hit me, I'm pretty sure Ellie would have done it for you and I don't think she would have been quite so…understanding."

They really did make no sense. No sense at all. And she was surprised to see Larkin act so human. It was plainly obvious that Chuck's presence was a huge influence on Larkin's behavior. Without Chuck around, the man was normally cold, dispassionate, and aloof. Chuck almost made him approachable. If only the man wasn't such a dick. Screwing his best friend's girlfriend? Not even she would do that. At least she didn't think so. Maybe if her best friend's boyfriend was Chuck. Maybe if she actually had a best friend. She couldn't even remember the last time she had a friend period, let alone someone she might consider her best friend.

What did that say about her that she couldn't even name the last person she considered a friend? Was she really that bad a person? Had she really lived such a lonely life? What was she doing?

She was getting distracted. She needed a distraction from her distraction. "Who's Ellie?"

"Not that I don't trust you, Sarah, but we're just going to leave that alone for now," Chuck said. His tone was hard and uncompromising and she was a little taken aback by his response, but understood. If she actually had somebody in her life worth caring about, she'd probably react the same way to somebody like her asking questions like that.

"Okay," she said. Well, it wasn't quite the distraction she was hoping for.

"Bryce should know better," Chuck said pointedly.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Larkin wince.

That was when the two men dressed in tactical gear rounded the corner of the hallway. Both sides had quite obviously caught the other unawares as neither side had their weapons in firing position. The two men had their submachine guns pointed at the ground, as they seemed to be fiddling with some handheld computer devices in their hands and talking into their radios. Both Larkin and herself had their weapons pointed toward the ground along their sides. She was sloppy. She cursed herself for being sloppy and potentially risking Chuck.

The two men were fast, but they were distracted by the devices in their hands and the obvious conversation going on over their radios. She didn't hesitate, she didn't ask questions, she didn't care that these men were almost certainly Fulcrum agents, she didn't care that she might know who they were, she just acted. Years of training kicked in and hours upon hours of painstakingly honed muscle memory activated. The Glock in her hand rose of its own volition; she assumed the classic shooter's stance and fired three times at the man on the left. She trusted Larkin to take care of the one on the right.

Her target had just about raised his submachine gun into firing position when her first shot hit just above center mass, stunning him. His Kevlar stopped the round from killing him, but thanks to her diminished muscle capacity, her arms were not quite prepared for the recoil caused by the first shot, and so her second shot was higher than the first. The second shot impacted near the vulnerable top of the Kevlar vest and right below his throat. The third missed completely and she barked out a curse at how off her aim was. The man fell to the ground, hands clawing at his chest, blood seeping through his fingers as he tried to put pressure on the wound.

She spared barely a second to see how Larkin was doing and was pleased to note that his target was already dead, two shots to his chest and one to the head. Damn, Larkin was good. Not that she wouldn't have done just as well if she was in top form, but she could admire quality handiwork when it was in front of her. She walked up to the still alive Fulcrum agent. His eyes were wide and full of pain, and he was taking in quick, gurgling breaths. It was obvious he was trying to say something to her; she only stared at his eyes. She did recognize him: his name was James Harper and he had been on the assault teams that night of the attack on Aegis Securities; the night she had been captured.

She shot him once in the forehead. She had probably done him a favor.

She immediately went to her knees, trying her best to avoid the blood around the body, and began stripping it of anything useful. With very careful maneuvering, she managed to remove the Kevlar vest from Harper's body. Other than the single bullet impact, it was still fairly useful. It was certainly better than nothing. She picked up Harper's weapon, an MP5-N she noticed in approval, checked to see if it was loaded, and grabbed as many spare magazines as she could fit into the pockets of her sweats. The last thing she took was his radio.

She clipped the radio to the waistband of her sweats and put the earbud in her ear. She briefly wondered what all this extra weight was going to do to her sweats, as the drawstring was already pulled as tight as it could go, and if Chuck was soon about to get an unintentional view of her ass, but she pushed those thoughts away. Her sweats were just barely hanging on her hips, so as long as she didn't move too strenuously, she should be safe. Turning her attention to the device in her ear, she was assaulted by the harsh, excited din of combat chatter. It did not take her long to glean how the situation was progressing.

She turned around to face her two companions and was once again pleased to see that Larkin had farmed his target of anything useful as well. He had the man's MP5-N firm in hand, his Glock tucked into the waistband of his pants, and he too was fastening his pilfered radio into place. She knew she didn't need to worry about him.

Chuck, though, was a different matter. She marched up to him, not looking at his face. She really didn't want to see how he might react to this side of her. Knowing intellectually what she had done and what she was capable of was far different than seeing her do those things in person. Besides, worrying about little things like emotions at a time like this was just not feasible or healthy. She needed to concentrate, be as business-like as possible, if she was going to get the two of them through this. She could worry about damage control later.

She shoved the vest into his hands and ordered emotionlessly, "Put this on. Don't argue with me." She chanced a quick look to his face and was surprised by what she saw there. His face was blank and unreadable, almost like what was happening had no affect on him. He even took the vest without objection, carefully strapping it on. He clearly had some familiarity with it, as he did it fast and efficiently.

She blinked quickly and darted her eyes away, suddenly feeling self-conscious and shy. This was not how she was expecting him to act after seeing her in action. If anything, his impassivity made her more nervous and concerned than if he had been looking at her in shock and horror.

She offered him back his Glock. "Here, take it. I don't need it anymore and you never know what might happen."

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She had expected him to refuse, but he simply took the Glock from her hand and slipped it into the waistband of his pants, behind his back. When she frowned at him, he sort of half-smiled at her. "I told you, I don't like them. I think you and Bryce are more than enough."

"But Chuck, something might happen to one of us and you should be ready to defend yourself if necessary."

"I said I'm fine," he said firmly.

She was not about to let this go. Did he not realize what his safety meant to her? The only reason why she was even still alive was because of him. At the moment, he was the only thing that was keeping her sane. He was all that was standing between her and Fulcrum. If he died, she honestly had no idea what she would do with herself. She'd been so broken down by this whole experience that Chuck was the only thing keeping her from getting lost in the wilderness of her own mind. He could not die.

"No, Chuck, that's not good enough. You need to be prepared!"

"We don't have time for this," barked Larkin. "An 8-man team just breached security in the South wing. We need to get moving, now. If they make it to D Section before us, we may not be able to get to the safe room." Then he stopped, swallowed, and seemed to think hard about saying anything further. Finally, he added, "Besides, Chuck knows what he's doing. Trust me."

She whirled around to pin Larkin with a glare. Just when she was starting to think that the man had his good qualities, he had to go and take Chuck's side. Bastard. How was she supposed to browbeat Chuck into doing what she said when Larkin was undermining her? Of course Chuck was going to listen to his friend over her.

"Fine," she huffed. "Let's go."

She turned and started walking back down the hallway, her head held high and her entire body alert. She didn't look back to see if they were following her.

# # # # #

She was really starting to reconsider her change of heart.

She slammed another magazine into her MP5, flipped the selector to semiautomatic, and fired twice down the hallway at the group of three Fulcrum personnel currently taking cover behind the corner of a hallway and the downed corpses of two of their fellows. Neither shot did much but force the three men to duck even further behind their makeshift barrier.

She was attempting to keep the three busy while Larkin took a circuitous route through several different hallways to outflank them from behind. Only he was taking his sweet time about it and she was really starting to get annoyed at being shot at so much. What made the whole thing even more annoying and ridiculous was that she didn't even have to be getting shot at. These men were here to rescue her, after all, not shoot her. And yet shooting at her was all they had been doing for the last 10 minutes. She could easily put her weapon down, yell down the hallway that all the previous gunplay had simply been a misunderstanding, and they could all go their merry way.

The only thing that had really prevented her from doing just that was that would probably mean Chuck getting killed. And as much as it annoyed her to dodge bullets that she really didn't need to dodge, she couldn't do that to Chuck.

She fired three more times; smiling triumphantly when one of her shots finally found their mark, one of the three men letting out a yelp of pain. It was about damn time! She knew her aim was off but this was getting absurd. It never would have taken her an entire magazine before she finally hit something before this entire ordeal started. Chuck must think her some kind of joke; all bluster and absolutely zero follow through. She was supposed to be this great agent, this legend amongst mere mortals, somebody Chuck had fought weeks to persuade to his side, and yet she couldn't even do the most basic of things. How he could trust her to protect him was beyond her, yet all he was doing was sitting safely behind her, relaxed and seemingly unconcerned. Whenever she looked back at him, he smiled at her, and that always temporarily boosted her confidence. He had so much undeserved faith in her.

It just made no sense to her. She sighed and looked away from his face to peer back around the corner of the hallway where they were taking cover. One of the three men was getting brave, so she stuck her MP5 around the corner and popped off two more shots. She missed, of course, but at least the man's bravery was short lived and he quickly went back to cowering behind cover.

She suddenly felt Chuck's presence directly behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see him kneeling less than a foot away from her, casually peeking around the hallway corner over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she hissed at him and unceremoniously pushed him back as hard as she could.

He fell onto his ass and let out a whoosh of air. He looked up at her incredulously but she only glared at him.

"I was just looking," he pouted.

"Trying to get yourself killed is more like it," she snapped. God, he always made it so hard for her to breathe when he did stuff like that. Only now was the tightening in her chest, like a 500 pound dumbbell pressing down on her, uncoiling that he was no longer being stupid and risking himself just to get a peek at what was happening. One of these times, he was going to send her into a full blown anxiety attack. If only she had some previous experience with these kind of emotions, but she had never felt this way about anyone and it was all so terrifyingly new. She hadn't gotten so nervous and anxious over another person since her father and thinking about him only made the emotions Chuck was conjuring inside of her even more difficult to handle.

Chuck simply cocked an eyebrow at her and shrugged his shoulders. "How many times do I have to tell you? I've got complete faith in you."

She rolled her eyes. He could say he had faith in her, but she knew that it was just words. There was no way any person could ever be that trusting. And he certainly didn't trust her completely, or else he would have told her who Ellie was. She would have to earn that kind of trust, which would not be easy, as she was liable to screw it up a million times before she got it right. If she ever got it right. If she even wanted to get it right.

"You're an idiot, Chuck Bartowski."

He shrugged again and reached behind him to pull out the Glock. He fiddled with it silently, resting it in his lap. He looked up at her, his face unreadable. "I know what I'm doing."

The implication in his words and actions was obvious to her and she almost smiled. Their relationship, if even what they had could be called a relationship, sure was twisted. Chuck's not so subtle reminder to her that he would shoot her if she did something dangerous or untrustworthy actually kind of turned her on. She admired a man that could stand up to her, challenge her, make her deserve his trust and affection. Plus, he had to be a little crazy himself to even consider a romantic relationship with her so that appealed to her too. She was clearly insane to be going through this with Chuck and rejoining the CIA.

The hallway exploded with automatic fire and she hurriedly spun around to look back around the corner, just in time to see Larkin finish off the last of the three Fulcrum agents. She let out a relieved sigh and stood up. She turned around just fast enough to tell Chuck to stay put and then stepped out from behind the corner. She cautiously made her way toward Larkin and the now five dead men.

"What the hell took you so long?"

Larkin shrugged and started to take ammunition from the three men. "Ran into the rest of their team; took some time to convince them to go somewhere else."

"Are we clear?"

Larkin nodded and ran a hand through slightly sweat darkened hair. His face was dirty and there were small cuts still bleeding dotting his face. He looked like he'd been in a hell of a fight. Larkin slapped a fresh magazine into his MP5. "I also ran into Agents Black and Red, they should be clearing the last of the hallways between here and D Section. From there it's just a straight shot toward the safe room."

She let her MP5 rest easily across her front and placed her hands on her hips. "You look like crap, Larkin. Next time, I'll lead and you can watch Chuck."

"Can I come out now?" Chuck yelled, only sticking his head around the corner. His eyes were wide and flicking between herself, Larkin, and the dead Fulcrum agents.

She sighed in affectionate exasperation and nodded her head reluctantly. "Come on, Chuck, Larkin says we're almost there."

Chuck rounded the corner with a grin on his face and quickly trotted up to her. Larkin was already waiting at the end of the next hallway, keeping an eye out.

Chuck sidled up to her and said quietly, "You should call him Bryce."

She frowned and carefully made her way around the downed men taking up most of the hallway. "Why?"

Chuck clumsily made his way through the Fulcrum obstacle, grimacing and wincing every time he accidentally stumbled against a dead body. She thought it was amusing, especially since only minutes ago he had quite capably overpowered her and yet here could barely maintain his balance long enough to walk on his tiptoes. Distractedly, his eyes glued on the floor, he said, "Because I'm sure he would appreciate it and since you're going to be working together now maybe it's a good idea to be on the best terms possible with your new team?"

She waited patiently for him to join her, leaning against the wall. "Are you and I on good terms?"

"Ewwww," Chuck said and shivered as he finally hopped over the last dead body. "That was just wrong," he murmured to himself. He looked up at her and grinned sheepishly. "Dead bodies kind of freak me out," he said.

"I kinda figured that," she said wryly.

"And to answer your question, we are about as good as could be expected given the circumstances."

"Okay, so then what do I care what anyone else thinks?"

They started toward Larkin. "So what you're saying is that my opinion is the only one that matters?" he asked.

"That's right."

Chuck wagged his finger at her. "No, no, no, Sarah, that is just unacceptable." He sighed exaggeratedly at her. "I guess I'm just going to have to teach you how to be a normal person again."

"Chuck," she said amusedly, "I was never a normal person."

"Hmmm…good point." He walked very close to her and she found herself tensing up. His proximity always set her a little on edge. "You are quite extraordinary, Sarah Walker."

She blushed. She didn't want to, she didn't mean to, but she did. She always found herself blushing or her stomach knotting up or feeling a little confused and lightheaded when he said those kinds of things to her. She wished he would stop at the same time that she wished he would say those kinds of things to her forever. She actually thought that she maybe had a chance to be a normal woman when he stopped looking at her like an asset to exploit and looked at her like a woman instead.

"Would you two stop talking and hurry up," Larkin said. Then he started to shoot at something they couldn't see.

She hurriedly ran up to him and tried to get a look at whatever had earned his ire. "I thought you said it was clear?"

"It was, but your flirting is clearly slowing us down," he said tightly. "I expect it from Chuck, but I thought you would know better."

She finally saw what Larkin had been shooting at. There was a man darting around a corner, leading away from them. She could hear his frantic voice over her radio asking for assistance. This was not good. Larkin should have killed him when he had the chance.

"I am NOT flirting."

Larkin didn't even respond, he just took off at a sprint after the other man. She swore loudly and quickly began to follow him without thinking. It was an instinctual response, thanks to years of combat and a lack of experience in dealing with asset protection, and she was already down the next hallway before she even realized she had left Chuck behind.

She had little time to rectify her mistake before she caught up to Larkin and the two of them came under fire. She threw herself low, sliding along the hallway floor, her MP5 coming up and returning fire before she even came to a stop.

Larkin took one look at her, and his eyes tightened. He started to return fire as well, turning his head to stare at her. He wasn't even aiming and yet his shots seemed to come close enough to make the four Fulcrum agents they were shooting at think twice about getting creative. "Where the hell is Chuck?"

She ejected her empty magazine and quickly replaced it with a new one, switching from semiautomatic to burst mode. She lined up carefully on a man to her right and squeezed her trigger lightly. The gun retorted harshly and three rapid shots hit the man directly in the chest. She had no idea if his Kevlar saved his life or not as he fell down to the ground and stopped moving.

"I…I don't know," she said lamely. "He should be back where we left him."

"You left him there!?" He immediately tried to stand up and make a dash back the way he came, but his suddenly high profile made him an instant target and a wall of fire quickly forced him back low to the ground. "Goddamn it, Walker. That's Agent Black over there," he said and pointed toward the crumpled body in a corner.

It was the first time she noticed the dead agent and she felt a pit of dread form in her stomach. What the hell was she thinking!? She had just left Chuck completely unprotected and now one of the men who were supposed to be making sure that the way to the safe room was clear was dead. Fulcrum agents could still be anywhere, even behind them, and she had left Chuck on his own.

"I forgot, okay? I'm not used to watching over someone else!" she yelled guiltily at Larkin. She tried to get up herself but didn't make it any higher than a crouch before Larkin yanked her back down to the ground.

"Don't be stupid. You can't do anything until we neutralize these men."

That oppressive weight was pressing down on her again and she could feel her breathing start to shallow and shorten. Anxiously, she asked, "Well, do you have any good ideas?" He didn't respond nearly fast enough for her liking so she said distraughtly, "We have to do something!" Oh God, she had left him behind! What if something happened to him?

She was losing it. She was finally going to have her breakdown. She knew this might happen to her eventually; she certainly wouldn't be the first person she knew who had an emotional breakdown during combat. Sometimes the stress just became too much and you couldn't handle it anymore. It was finally happening to her. Leave it to Chuck to be the cause. Why not? He had turned everything else in her life topsy-turvy so why not this?

Larkin was muttering under his breath, "I knew it was a bad idea to bring you along." He slapped in a new magazine, grabbed her arm and shook her hard. "We can't stay here, we have to move, do you understand? Under no circumstances can we let Fulcrum get their hands on Chuck. Do you hear me? Nothing else matters but preventing that."

"I…I don't understand. Why is Chuck so important?" What was wrong with her!? Larkin was telling her exactly what she already knew to be true and yet she was sitting there like some kind of idiot asking stupid questions that didn't matter. Who cared why Chuck was so important? She had to save him!

"I'll try and draw their fire and while they're distracted, you go find Chuck," Larkin ordered. Normally she might have objected to him telling her what to do, but she only nodded dumbly. Thinking of a plan right now was too much for her brain to process.

"Okay."

Larkin counted to three and then popped up, slashing to the right, his MP5 firing wildly. Return fire immediately followed him and she had her temporary respite. She didn't hesitate any more and took off back the way she had come.

She let out a string of very loud, very biting curses at her own stupidity and the frustrating nature of her situation as she ran. Her breath came in heaving gasps and she almost slipped and fell twice, but she finally was able to retrace her steps and burst into the hallway where she had last seen Chuck.

He was gone.

And there was his vest and a puddle of blood on the floor where he had been standing.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _Choices, Part Four_ - The story goes in a pretty different direction. More action is on the horizon. Sarah freaks out, Bryce gets annoyed, Carina threatens anyone and everyone, and oh yeah, Chuck...well, you'll just have to read the chapter to see what Chuck does. That's if, you know, Chuck is even still alive...


	11. Choices, Part Four

**Author's Note: **And here we are folks, the end of an era. Or an arc. This chapter signifies the end of the first story arc of this epic adventure. But don't you worry, because there are two more. That's right, two. I honestly don't know how I'm going to do it all without shooting myself, but that's the plan. Unfortunately, you probably can't expect me to update quite as quickly as I have in the past. I've got about four or five simultaneous writing projects going on, some as small as an upcoming Casey/Chuck bonding one-shot, and others as large as an original novel I'm writing. My attention is going to be spread pretty thin. But I will do my best to update as often as I can.

This is the portion of the credit sequence where I thank everybody who made this story possible. At least up until this point. And that list consists of mostly myself, and I'm kind of awesome, and **Wepdiggy**, who is, unfortunately, even more awesome than me. Without him, I probably would not have even been able to write the last five chapters or so and it was his brilliant idea to break up this three parter into a four parter. Thank you, Wep, for all of your help! Now write a damn fluff piece to make up for all of your angst.

And I guess, while I'm here, let me just say thanks to **malamoo** whose comments about this chapter seriously boosted my ego. Plus, damn, she is persistent.

* * *

Not for the first time in his life, Chuck wondered how he got himself into these kinds of situations.

Agent Red, whose real name was Lt. Commander Stanley Chase, on special assignment from the NSA—he was the only one who was supposed to know that, thanks to the Intersect in his head—had a gun pointed confidently at his head. He made Chuck take his vest off and toss it aside. He then motioned down the hallway with his free hand and Chuck slowly began walking backwards, hands up.

Chase was not a tall man, at least six inches shorter than him, but what he lacked in height, he made up in muscle mass. Chuck would not have been surprised if Chase was as strong as Casey, and almost as maneuverable as Bryce. There was no way he'd have any chance against the man if it came down to a physical confrontation. So he had to make sure it didn't come to fisticuffs.

"Let's go, Mr. Carmichael. I don't want to be here when your pet realizes how she's screwed up."

"So you're the one who let Fulcrum into the base," Chuck said. It made sense. The only way Fulcrum could have made it past the perimeter security defenses was if they had somebody on the inside working for them. He just couldn't believe it. The agents chosen to work the detention facility were specifically chosen for their incorruptibility and loyalty. In fact, it was basic security procedure for him to try and flash on any new agent to the facility; if they weren't in the Intersect and if the Intersect didn't vouch for them, they were transferred somewhere else or simply…disappeared. It should have been next to impossible to get a double agent inside the facility. If Fulcrum could penetrate here, they could get in anywhere.

He did his best to drag his feet without looking like he was deliberately walking as slow as he could. The longer he took, the more time Sarah or Bryce had to save his worthless ass. Only he would let somebody get the drop so easily on him. Despite all of Casey's training, his years of experience, the warnings and admonitions from Carina and Casey to trust no one, he still inherently trusted just about everyone he came across. No wonder they insisted he couldn't look after himself. He was sure that Carina or Casey would have never let somebody they didn't trust get within striking distance of them. Of course, they didn't really trust anybody, but still the point stood.

He should have known something was wrong the second Chase had appeared out of nowhere behind him. He had overheard Bryce tell Sarah that Chase was supposed to be securing their way with Agent Black and yet here was the man, coming from _behind_ them instead of in front of them.

He had let the man walk right up to him and strike him across the face with the butt of his pistol. Even after Chase hadn't responded to any of his inquiries as to what he was doing there he still kept his guard down. Now he was paying the price: a likely broken nose and somehow getting himself captured without any of his friends to save him.

At this point, he figured he deserved whatever he got. His only consolation was that apparently his reputation as being pathologically gun shy had prevented Chase from searching him for weapons. It was incredibly sloppy, but he had spent enough time around the man to know that despite being known as the great Charles Carmichael, Chase didn't think much of him or his abilities to defend himself. Chase probably figured that's why he surrounded himself with people like Casey and Bryce, men well known in the intelligence community as stone cold killers, in Casey's case, and professional ass kickers in Bryce's. He wouldn't be the first person he'd encountered during his time as the Intersect to think that they did all the heavy lifting and he just sat back and reaped all the rewards.

There was no other explanation for why Chase had yet to discover that he still had the Glock tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Chase shrugged his shoulders and pushed Chuck in the shoulder with the barrel of his gun, making him stumble forward a bit and unfortunately speed up his space. "I was just doing what I was told."

That caused Chuck to pull up short, his feet frozen to the ground. He spun around to look at Chase, temporarily forgetting that the man might not appreciate such a rapid and aggressive move. He didn't. Chase backhanded Chuck across the face with his free hand, making his already injured nose scream in protest. He sucked in a sharp breath and cried out in pain. He quickly moved away from Chase, holding his hands up as a shield.

"You should be more careful, Mr. Carmichael. Next time you pull something like that, I might not be as restrained in my response."

Chuck stared at Chase in disbelief. That was a restrained response? He had just turned around! Okay, so he had done so somewhat recklessly, but that was just uncalled for. "Who told you to let Fulcrum into the base?"

"Who do you think?" He didn't respond, too busy gaping at Chase to say anything, and Chase rolled his eyes. "It was General Beckman, of course."

"What!?"

"So you see, I was only following orders."

Chuck raised his hand and tried to wipe some of the dripping blood off his face. He splattered it onto the ground like a shotgun blast. His mind was whirring at light speed, trying to wrap his brain around what Chase was telling him. This was insane. "Beckman is Fulcrum?"

Chase pushed Chuck moving again while he chuckled. "I have no idea if she's Fulcrum."

They turned the corner and were now completely out of sight of where Sarah had left him. They moved in silence down several long and empty corridors. The farther they moved into the labyrinthine hallways of the facility, the more he felt his spirits weaken. It would only take a few more turns and it was unlikely anybody would be able to find him before it was too late.

"I don't understand. If she's not Fulcrum then why is she doing this? And where are you taking me?"

Chase told him to hold still while he opened an old, stained, steel door and then motioned for Chuck to go inside. Chuck sighed reluctantly and then walked through the doorway. He was not surprised to see a darkened hallway, lit only by the red emergency lights that were often found throughout the facility.

"I do what I'm told," Chase said. He closed the door behind him. "If I'm told to open a door here, disable an alarm there, sometimes let slip classified data, then that's what I do. You ask too many questions in this business and you're not in business for very long."

The two walked down the hallway, Chuck a few feet in front of Chase, his hands clenching at his sides. Chuck needed to make a move, he needed to do something to either get away or disable Chase. But he also wanted to find out as much information as possible about what was going on. It was to his benefit to keep Chase telling him as much as he could. Only he had no idea how much longer Chase was going to be hesitant to use his weapon. He couldn't risk letting Chase continue to be in charge of the situation. He sighed and slumped his shoulders, knowing what he had to do. If there was anything spending years around Casey had taught him, it was how to piss men like Stanley Chase off. If only his plan didn't involve so much pain…

He quickly looked over his shoulder to see just where Chase was. The man was about five feet behind him, and slightly to his right. Now that he had Chase's position firmly rooted in his mind, he began calculating how he was going to pull things off. If only he knew just how Chase intended to respond; it was going to be painful, he was sure, but how was important to determining his own response. He took a deep breath and began, "Okay, I get it, you're a robot," Chuck said. "One of those government drones that probably slips into an infinite loop if you ever have an independent thought, but what exactly is the point of all this?"

Chase sped up his pace a bit so that he was close enough to hit him in between his shoulders with the butt of his gun. Chuck instantly fell to the ground, writhing in pain and arching his back. His hands futilely tried to reach the spot where he'd been hit in an instinctual response to soothe his pain, but Chase had apparently chosen the spot between his shoulder blades as the perfect hard to reach area. Chuck moaned and rolled onto his back, his hands still behind him but now resting just under the small of his back. He breathed a little faster to help manage the pain and shut his eyes tightly. Well, that had been easier than he thought. Even Casey usually took longer to goad than that.

He opened his eyes and noted with satisfaction that Chase was again standing at a slight distance, the gun held down by his thigh. Perfect. Chuck very slowly inched his hands under his shirt, all the while doing his best to look like he was overcome with pain. It wasn't that hard to pretend.

Chase sneered and practically spat on the ground in front of him. "I warned you." Chase walked up to him and kicked him hard in the stomach. Chuck doubled over, his hands briefly leaving his waist. He let out a strangled cough and fought to focus. "I don't see what's so special about you. All this fuss over a computer geek," Chase said and shook his head in disgust.

Once the pain receded from Chase's kick, he moved his hands behind his back again. He just needed to get a firm hand on the Glock… "It's nerd," he said quietly through gritted teeth.

"What?" Chase asked angrily, taking a step closer and looming over Chuck.

Chuck remembered the lessons Casey had taught him about toppling an opponent from the ground. If possible, aim for the knee. If facing forward, kick the knee backwards, if at an angle, kick it to the side. If the knee was not available, aim for the groin. If you couldn't hit the groin, try to sweep the legs out from under your target. Chuck, fortunately, seemed to have the benefit of a variety of options. Chase was just the right distance for a knee strike, so that's what Chuck did. "I said, it's nerd, you bastard," he growled out in a fair imitation of John Casey, and lashed out with a quick kick.

His foot hit Chase's right knee dead center. The knee was thrust backwards with an audible pop, his entire leg locking, and he screamed out in pain. Chase started to teeter, like he could no longer maintain his balance, and Chuck helped him topple over like a tree just cut down when he snap kicked his left knee. The move worked better than he ever expected.

Chase fell to the ground and tried to curl into a ball, but the movement jarred his knees and he quickly stopped moving. He groaned pathetically in pain and Chuck lunged to his feet in one smooth motion. He quickly divested Chase of his own pistol, moved a fair distance away, and then pointed Chase's weapon at the man's chest. There was no reason to let the other man know he still had his Glock. Every advantage he could exploit only increased his survival chances.

Distastefully, he glanced briefly at the pistol in his hand. He wanted to toss it aside or have it join the Glock he already had, but at the moment, it was a necessary evil. His hand didn't sweat, his aim didn't waver, he was cool and calm. Casey had done his best to train him well and he was immensely relieved that so far, things were going okay. He only wished that Casey was around; the man would be so proud of him. Plus, if Casey were around, then he could handle what Chuck was about to do next.

He waited until Chase finally calmed down enough to stop moaning, and then crouched down so that he was directly in the man's eyesight. "I probably should have warned _you_, but we nerds tend to get a bit touchy when people think they can push us around just because we don't stalk down the halls like Lou Ferrigno with a stick up his ass."

Chuck calmly shifted out of his crouch to sit cross legged, the pistol relaxing easily in his lap. Chase was quiet now, only slightly wheezing, and the man's cool brown eyes never wavered from him. "That was impressive," Chase said.

"Thanks," Chuck said with an unassuming grin. "It took me years and a lot of bruises to get it right."

"I misjudged you," Chase admitted. His eyes shut briefly and he winced. "It won't happen again."

Chuck shook his head and frowned. "Now you see, that presupposes that there will be an 'again'. Personally, and no offense intended, but I'd like to avoid that if at all possible. Pain is not really my thing."

"Believe me, I get it. It does tend to get shit done though."

"Very true," Chuck acknowledged with a little bow of his head. "That's why I'd very much like to know what the hell is going on here," he said, his voice gradually hardening into a rough edge.

Chase shrugged his shoulders, which looked funny as he was still lying on his back. "I told you all I know."

"I don't believe you," Chuck snapped. He tightened his grip on the pistol. Maybe Chase needed a little more incentive to divulge what he knew.

"What do you want from me? I don't know anything!" Chase yelled.

"I…don't…believe you," Chuck said slowly. "What were you going to do with me? I find it hard to believe that Beckman would want me taken care of."

"She didn't."

"So then what was with all the…" Chuck waved his arms around wildly and frowned. He pointed to his nose and back to indicate what Chase had done to him.

"I…uh…lost my temper?" Chase offered sheepishly.

Chuck rolled his eyes and transferred the pistol from his right hand to his left. He fished into one of his pockets and pulled out a cell phone. Without taking his eyes off of Chase, he searched through his contact list for the appropriate number and selected it. He held the phone up to his ear and waited for the line to connect.

"Hello and welcome to Eazy Express Shipping. Our hours of operation are from 9 to 10, Monday through Saturday. We apologize for any inconvenience, but all of our customer service representatives are currently busy. If you would like to leave a message, please wait for the tone and we will do our best to get back to you as soon as we can. Thank you and again we apologize for any inconvenience." The recording stopped and then there was a sustained beeping tone. Chuck quickly entered his three-digit access code.

The line went silent and then a cool, vaguely female computer voice ordered, "Please enter your extension code now." Again, Chuck inserted his code, six-digits this time. He held his breath, unsure if he had the right code—all contact codes changed every week for security reasons and he had always had problems keeping them right in his mind—and then relaxed when the usual two clicks sounded. This time, he got a human operator. "Good evening, Mr. Carmichael. Please code in for General Beckman."

Sometimes it was really annoying all the hoops he had to jump through just to have a conversation with one of his bosses. Unfortunately, he knew that the security was a necessary evil, as the man still lying in front of him attested. "Charles Carmichael, code: Skywalker, TK421."

Chase snorted in genuine amusement from the ground and Chuck sent him a dirty look. "That is the worst security code ever. Anybody who knows you would be able to figure it out," he said with a snicker.

Chuck flushed slightly but then shrugged his shoulders. The man was probably right, but he was a traditionalist and you don't mess with the classics.

General Beckman's shrill voice assaulted his ears. "What is the meaning of this, Mr. Bartowski? Contact like this is highly irregular."

"Cut the crap, _Diane_, you know exactly what's going on," he snapped. He didn't, actually never, talked to Beckman like this but these were exceptional circumstances. It was a risk, but if anything Chase had told him was true, then it was worth the risk.

She didn't respond right away. There was heavy breathing and he could only imagine how herculean a task it was for his diminutive task master to control her notorious temper and intolerance for insubordination. "Let me speak to Commander Chase."

As if he needed any further confirmation that Chase was at least telling the truth about Beckman being involved, she had known what was going on without him even having to say anything. "No."

"What do you mean _no_?"

He almost laughed at the incredulity in her voice, but there was still a small amount of self-preservation somewhere still inside of him. "I mean, I'm not doing anything for you until you tell me exactly why Agent Red was told to let Fulcrum into the facility." He had almost let slip that he knew Chase's name. That would have been a dead giveaway that he knew more than any normal agent might. And that might lead Chase to thinking things he shouldn't.

"That is none of your concern, Mr. Bartowski!"

Now he was the incredulous one. "Not my concern!? He tried to kill me!"

"I did not," Chase yelled but Chuck ignored him.

"He did what!?"

"First he hit me in the head with his gun, which really hurt like hell by the way, then he started to lead me into the bowels of this shitbox you call a detention facility so that he could do only God knows what to me." He looked at the dim hallways, cracked and moldy. Pipes ran horizontally along the ceiling and the walls seemed to creak and moan every few seconds. The place felt decrepit and old, like he was the first human being to look at it in years. "I swear, it's like the inside of Jabba's Palace here," he mumbled.

Beckman sounded genuinely surprised by the turn of events that Chuck was describing to her. "He hit you in the head? The Intersect isn't damaged, is it?"

Chuck rolled his eyes. "No. I'm fine, by the way, thanks for your concern."

"Yes, yes, of course, I am deeply concerned for your safety," Beckman said, clearly annoyed and insincere. "Now can we get on with more important matters?"

"Like you explaining why I shouldn't call up Director Graham and tell him that you're Fulcrum?"

There was silence on Beckman's end and Chuck held his breath. Sometimes…sometimes he didn't know what came over him. Accusing a woman like Diane Beckman of being Fulcrum was a surefire way of ending up dead. If you were wrong, and she was a loyal patriot, then you more than likely just made an enemy for life. But if you were right, and she really was Fulcrum…it was entirely possible he wouldn't make it out of the facility alive. He was just so damn angry at her. All the people who had died today, had done so needlessly, and all for one woman's secret, dangerous, devious ambition.

Not for the first time, he really thought about quitting this job. If only quitting didn't mean going on the run and losing all contact with everybody he had ever loved or cared for. Carina would probably go with him. Probably. But he didn't think he could risk his life or his sanity on probablies.

"Mr. Bartowski," Beckman began but then switched gears faster than he could process her doing so. "_Chuck_. Things are not what they appear. There are reasons—good, legitimate reasons—for everything I do. And you know that sometimes, most of the time, I can't and will not explain them to you." Beckman somehow managed to sound civil, almost maternal in her understanding. It totally confused him. Since when did Beckman ever talk to him like a fellow human being? "Now please put Commander Chase on the phone so that I can talk to him."

Chuck sighed and only briefly hesitated before casually tossing the phone onto Chase's chest. What could he do but give in? He didn't want to let Chase have the phone, the idea of not being privy to their conversation made him sick, but what could he do? If he refused, Beckman would probably threaten him with her oft repeated, but normally not very serious, threat of tossing him into a bunker and throwing away the key. And that was only if she wasn't Fulcrum. God only knew what she would do to him if she were.

"Your lord and master desires to speak with you," Chuck said caustically.

Chase carefully picked up the phone and brought it up to his ear. Chuck eased back a bit and tightened his hold on his gun. He would be prepared for anything. There was always the chance that Beckman would order Chase to kill him. He would not let the man get the drop on him again.

Chase did very little talking. For that, Chuck was both grateful and disappointed. The conversation was brief and before Chuck really knew what was going on, Chase was tossing him back the phone. Chuck warily picked it up and put it to his ear.

"Mr. Bartowski?"

"Yes, General?"

"I assure you that most of what has transpired was not done by my order," Beckman said.

Chuck groaned and scratched the side of his head with his trigger finger. Back to square one. "So then what do you want me to do with him?" Assuming you're telling the truth, he wanted to add but managed to stop himself before doing so.

The cold certainty in her voice was more biting and terrifying than any blizzard could ever be. "He disobeyed my orders and is obviously acting under his own auspices. Since he and his loyalty can no longer be trusted, kill him," she said.

And before he could even respond, she hung up.

* * *

She was just sitting there, arms wrapped around her legs, chin resting atop her knees, staring at the pool of blood and the vest lying beside it.

She couldn't move. It was like her legs just didn't work. She couldn't even muster up the strength to hold her gun. A Fulcrum agent could come running around the corner and she wouldn't even care. She didn't know what to do. This had never happened to her before. Everything was just shutting down.

It was like her father all over again. She would never forget that day. It was amazing what details you could remember at a time like that.

Walking into their shabby house, paid for by ill-gotten funds, and seeing blood on the entry way tile. The dirty ocher tile seemed to channel the blood into sticky rivers along the grout. Seeing the dark bloody rivulets spread out along the floor ripped her stomach out from inside her and made her heart freeze. She remembered running, desperately, wildly, down the hallway following the bloody trail further into the house. She screamed for her father, her voice cracking and breaking, her footing slipping and catching. She couldn't even run straight, she was so panicked. All she could think about, other than a refusal to believe that her father was dead, was that this was bound to happen eventually. All their cons, all the people they had cheated and stolen from. A good conman may have been able to leave town whenever he wanted to, but sometimes, it didn't matter how good you were, there was always somebody better.

She never found him.

She found the two U.S. Marshals that had been assigned to her father as his protective detail, but never him. One Marshal had several gunshots to his chest and the other a single shot to the head. She had almost vomited at the sight of them, but her daddy had taught her better than that. She searched the rest of the house frantically, hope warring with despair. She continued to follow the blood trail, like some perverted, macabre trail of breadcrumbs left by Hansel and Gretel, toward her father's room. She remembered holding the large carving knife in one hand—she had grabbed the first knife she saw as soon as she found the dead agents. She remembered kicking open the door and rushing in, heedless of any potential danger, so desperate to find her father alive, despite all the blood, that she didn't care what happened to her. The carpet and bed were stained with blood; the room stank of death, but again, no body.

She remembered how she had sunk to the floor in her father's bedroom after that, arms wrapped tightly around her, wishing her father would come walking through his bedroom door any second. He never did.

She couldn't remember how long she just sat there. It could have been minutes or hours, she couldn't say. And then there was Langston Graham. He stepped through the door of her father's room, took one long look at the destruction, and then turned to her.

She attacked him before he could even open his mouth.

"You asshole!" she had yelled. "You promised he would be okay!"

It didn't take much to subdue the older man. Graham was an intelligence puke, a desk jockey, no match for somebody even with her relatively rudimentary skills. And she had fury on her side. The vivid feel of her fist impacting repeatedly against Graham's face came back to her even now, as she sat in the hallway, with such clarity that her hand began to ache. She had nearly broken her hand beating him, and the only things that had probably saved his life, were her forgetting she still had the knife in her anger and the SAD boys that piled into the room quickly after him and tossed her aside. That did little to deter her however and somehow she managed to disable two of the men before they finally got her under control enough so that she was no longer a threat.

Graham had needed help getting to his feet and he had to lean on two of the SAD men so he wouldn't fall over. He spat bloodily onto the carpet and glared murderously at her. He couldn't talk straight, his jaw and mouth too damaged, but after careful listening, she understood. "The only reason why you're still alive is because of me. I did all I could for your father."

"He's dead! You killed him!" she had screamed, tears streaming down her face. If she had been able to get free, Langston Graham would have been the first man she ever killed.

"No," he growled. He wiped blood off his face and flicked his hand, sending sprays of red to stain the carpet further. "Somebody must have tipped them off. His security was compromised. I tried to get here as fast as I could, but clearly I was too late."

"Who?" she demanded, still straining against the men holding her back.

"I don't know," he slurred. He tried to stand up under his own power and managed to only sway a little bit. "Work for me and you can find out."

"Is he dead?" she had asked quietly, all her fight gone.

"Probably," Graham said sympathetically. "But impossible to tell at this time without more information. If you work with me, perhaps we can find out…" he said, his voice trailing off.

Now, she knew he had simply been planting the seed. But back then, all she remembered was shutting her eyes and just going boneless at his offer. If it weren't for the agents holding her, she would have fallen to the ground. That had been the beginning of it all.

When she first joined the CIA, the only thing that had allowed her to sleep at night was the knowledge that someday she would find the people responsible for her father and make them pay.

Only this time, it was her fault. She was the one responsible for that blood on the floor. The first person since her father she had opened herself to, since she had cared even a little for, and it was her fault that he was hurt, possibly even dead. She had killed Chuck.

That thought caused her breathing to stop and she shut her eyes tightly. Nothing mattered anymore. She was dead. She had died the second he did. With Chuck no longer around, there was no way the CIA would let her live. They'd probably kill her just on general principle and she couldn't blame them. It would have been the right thing to do. She had killed their agent, a man clearly incredibly valuable, why would they care about her after that? She deserved death. She started to hope that a Fulcrum agent would come running around the corner and just put her out of her misery.

It would have been the humane thing to do; just like she had done for James Harper. She didn't want to spend her last moments in extreme pain, gasping for breath, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop the inevitable. She just wanted it all to end.

Someone did appear from around the corner then, but it was only Bryce Larkin. His right arm was bleeding and he was winded, but his eyes still managed the same ice cold calmness that had always unnerved her.

He came to a sudden stop, looked down at her, and barked, "What the hell, Walker!?"

She didn't say anything, just pointed at the blood.

Larkin followed her finger and frowned. "Is that supposed to be Chuck's?"

She nodded her head. Technically, she didn't know who the blood belonged to, but she didn't see how it could be anybody but Chuck's. She was already starting to accept that Chuck was dead.

Larkin stomped up to her, reached down and yanked her bodily upwards. She would have been impressed at his strength if she weren't so busy extricating herself from his clutches. "Damn it, Walker, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

She pushed him away angrily, wiped a trembling hand across her forehead, and yelled, "Leave me alone!"

"No," Larkin yelled back. "We need to find Chuck."

"He's dead," she said pathetically. "I killed him."

To her surprise, Larkin simply rolled his eyes. "God, you're messed up." He stared at the blood for several seconds and muttered, "And I thought I had issues."

"Fuck you."

"Maybe later but right now, I think I'm going to go find my friend."

Larkin ejected the magazine from his weapon, and loaded a fresh one. "Damn, last one. I hope you somehow managed to stay out of trouble this time, Chuck." He started to walk down the hallway, only slowing down long enough as he passed her to grab her arm and start dragging her along beside him.

Again, she forcibly removed his hands from her body, but at least this time she followed him, albeit reluctantly. "I told you, he's dead."

Larkin sighed and shook his head. "Spend a little more time with him and you'll learn that underestimating Chuck Bartowski is a lethal mistake."

She actually felt herself smiling. "I already learned that a while ago."

"Then trust me, Chuck is still alive. In fact, he's probably doing better than we are."

* * *

After spending about 30 seconds processing the absolute insanity of Beckman's order, he did the only thing he could do.

He called Carina.

She answered on the third ring. She never let her phone ring longer than that when he was calling. When she answered, her voice was tight and highly stressed. "I'm a little busy right now, Chuck, what do you want?"

"Please don't kill me but I need your help," he pleaded.

There was dead silence on her end and then she groaned. "What did you do?"

"First, why do you just automatically assume I did something, huh? It's not always my fault, you know."

"Chuck…" she said, annoyed and impatient.

He continued on, completely overriding her attempt to get a word in. "And second, I just want you to know that I had a perfectly legitimate and rational reason for leaving the safe room," he said, suddenly sheepish and self-conscious, all his bluster from just a few seconds ago gone. He knew how much trouble he was in.

"You left the safe room!?" she screamed into the phone.

He winced and took a deep breath. "I'll explain later but let's not focus on what I've done wrong right now. I really, really, REALLY need your help," he said desperately.

Carina did a complete 180, going from furiously angry to total panic. "Are you okay!? Are you hurt!? Where are you, Chuck?" He could hear what sounded like running and suddenly Carina's breathing got a little heavier and faster.

His voice trembled slightly as he said, "I don't know." He paused and swallowed. "I…I think Beckman tried to have me killed."

He saw Chase roll his eyes at that but he didn't care. He still didn't really believe that the man was not acting under Beckman's orders.

"You're joking," Carina said. "Right?"

Chuck was a little put off at that so he snapped, "No."

"General Beckman…General Diane Beckman tried to kill you?"

"No, Carina, the other General Beckman from the NSA we work with."

"Don't be a smart ass," Carina scolded. "And don't think I've forgotten how much trouble you're in just because you're trying to distract me with Beckman."

"Yes, mom." He rolled his eyes. "And I'm not trying to distract you, okay? I'm serious."

Carina was silent, save for her faster breathing. "I believe you, Chuck. Tell me what happened."

He sighed in relief that Carina was ready to listen. "Okay, so I was just hanging out in one of the hallways on the way to D Section. Bryce and Sarah had chased after this Fulcrum agent, I guess, and I –"

Carina cut him off with an animalistic snarl. "You let that bitch out of her room!?" Her voice suddenly faded into a string of highly profane curses; like she had moved her phone away from her mouth so he wouldn't hear. Then she was back and, if possible, sounding even more pissed. "That's why you left the safe room? I swear to God, Chuck, when I get my hands on you…"

Chuck rapidly jumped back into the conversation before she could vocalize whatever fate she had planned for him. "Anyway, so I'm alone and then all of sudden Agent Red comes up to me and hits me in the head with his gun. He tells me he's just following Beckman's orders and it was her idea to let Fulcrum into the base. After that, he basically just made me follow him and now I'm in some dungeon I don't really recognize," he said hurriedly, his words so jumbled in haste he hoped she understood him.

"I assume, since you're talking to me, that you somehow disabled Agent Red?"

He smiled and said proudly, "Yes."

"Good job, Chuck," she said quietly. He couldn't help but widen his smile just a little bit. "He's still alive?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Good. You said you were near D Section when he grabbed you, right?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I'm very close to there anymore."

"That's okay, I'm almost there. I will contact Casey and get him to activate your GPS and he'll lead me to you." She paused, and he heard her breathing slow down. She must have stopped running. "You stay put and keep safe. Don't trust anyone but me, do you understand, Chuck? Nobody but me," she said urgently.

Chuck couldn't help but object. "But Casey and Bryce –"

"No, Chuck! If what you say about Beckman is true, then we can't trust anybody, okay? That especially means Casey."

He didn't agree but he didn't see any point in arguing with her about it. Not while she was in overprotective mode. "You call me again if anything else happens. And you better be fine when I find you because if you manage to get yourself hurt because of that woman I…I'll request a reassignment."

Then she hung up before he could say anything.

Damn she was pissed. She hadn't threatened him with the reassignment card since they first started working together.

He absently slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned his attention to Chase. "She ordered me to kill you, you know."

Chase was sitting up now, resting with his back against a wall. He snorted and shook his head. "I'm not surprised. She's never been known for dealing with problems with any kind of finesse or subtlety."

"It doesn't piss you off?"

"Occupational hazard." He arched an eyebrow and became the picture of relaxation. "What, you think I've never been burned before?"

"I think it would drive me crazy."

"I'm a practical guy. I accept life for what it is, not what I want it to be."

"Still, I'm just surprised you're taking things so easily."

Chase lifted up his right arm and glanced at the watch on his wrist. He chuckled and smirked. He contorted his voice into a lofty, almost ironic, tone. "Cowards die many times before their deaths, the valiant never taste of death but once." Chase shrugged his shoulders and his smirk grew. "You let fear control you in life and you never accomplish anything. What you see as accepting things without a fight is actually me simply waiting."

Chuck did not like the look of Chase's smirk. He tightened his grip on the gun in his hand and slowly climbed to his feet. He started to look around, to see if he could find anything that might explain Chase's sudden confidence. He saw nothing. No weapon, no fellow agent, nothing.

"They're not going to find you before it's too late."

"Too late?"

Chase sat up a little straighter and gradually forced himself to his feet. He winced in pain the whole time but he managed to stand under his own power. "Like I said, I'm a practical guy. When I see an opportunity, I take it."

Chuck could hear noises now; noises that sounded like feet pounding on concrete and people moving quickly. He spun around, searching for the source of the noise, but couldn't see anything. "What the hell is going on?"

"Beckman did order me to let Fulcrum into the base. I have no reason why nor do I particularly care. But it made perfect sense to me. Fulcrum is attacking, chaos is everywhere, people are dying, why not sneak out a valuable piece of intelligence during the distraction?"

Chuck felt his stomach drop. He knew. He wasn't sure how Chase knew, but he could see in the man's eyes that he knew. "What are you talking about?"

"You know where it is."

Chuck almost visibly deflated in relief. He didn't know. He only knew that he knew something about the Intersect. "I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"Word has it that you know how to find the Intersect, Carmichael. Do you have any idea how valuable and important information like that is?

"So you do work for Fulcrum."

Chase shook his head and clicked his tongue at him in mock disapproval. "Oh, Mr. Carmichael, I never said I worked for Fulcrum."

A shout came from behind Chuck, and he involuntarily spun around to see who was there. At the same time, Chase leapt for him and the two of them went flying to the ground.

Chuck landed on his back, Chase's arms wrapped in an iron grip around his chest. The man started to squeeze and Chuck couldn't move his arms. Breathing became more difficult when Chase added his own body weight to his chest, increasing the pressure. Chuck struggled furiously, twisting back and forth like he was stuck in the spin cycle of a washing machine. He could not dislodge the man and he had to keep dodging his head to avoid a stinging head butt from Chase as well.

Chuck grunted as Chase leaned back and forcefully slammed his body back into the floor. The Glock tucked into his pants dug into his back and he knew he'd have a huge bruise there later. Assuming he survived. Chase slammed him again and the move winded him. Chase moved one of his arms from around his chest to press down like an iron bar across his throat. Chuck choked and gagged as he tried to suck in any amount of air.

Chase had a sadistic grin on his face, his eyes wild and burning. The man was enjoying himself. "Still prefer nerd, huh, Carmichael?" Chase spat onto his face in disgust and then grabbed his head and slammed it twice into the concrete floor. "That was for my knees, you mother fucking geek."

Chuck groaned loudly in pain and his vision blurred. His head swam and his breathing was completely irregular now. He didn't feel right.

He didn't have much time left before he lost consciousness. He couldn't do anything but struggle ineffectually. Chase was simply too strong for him.

Then Chase was yanked bodily off of him and thrown to the floor. Now standing over Chuck were three men dressed in black tactical gear. They all wore balaclavas and the man closest to Chuck was yelling loudly at Chase in anger. Chuck's hearing came in and out, and his vision was really messed up now. The whole world was spinning, nothing seemed right. "We…him alive…what's…you!"

"He…it," Chase yelled back and scrambled to his feet.

The man that had saved Chuck punched Chase in the face and Chase went toppling to the floor. His nose was bleeding and his eye was already starting to bruise. Chase lunged at the man that hit him, but the man on the left hit Chase in the stomach with the butt of his rifle and Chase collapsed to his knees, gasping. Chuck would have grinned at the sight but he was pretty sure if he tried he'd vomit all over the newcomers' shoes.

The man that was obviously in charge bent down to where he was looming over Chuck, his dark eyes studying him quizzically. "You're going to be…with us now, Carmichael. Cooperate and you can…any repeat of…"

His hearing was still messed up but he understood the general gist of what the man intended. He did his best to nod his head and the man straightened up. He turned his back on Chuck to face his two companions.

Chuck made his move then.

When Ellie was 7, she had become consumed by Mary Lou Retton during the 84' Olympics and had gone on a summer long gymnastics binge. She had sat rapt in front of the TV as Mary Lou Retton and the rest of the American gymnastic team contorted and twisted their bodies in amazing displays of athletic prowess. Ellie was fascinated, and like everything with his sister, when she put her mind to doing something, she went all out and did it. She decided that she wanted to be a gymnast.

Unfortunately, according to her reasoning, she couldn't train to be a gymnast on her own and so she had convinced him that he wanted to be a gymnast as well. Every day for months she made him do cartwheels, front flips, back flips, walking on an improvised balance beam of shoe boxes and their father's old engineering text books from college, and handstands. The list of things she wanted to do was endless. She was particularly fond of the floor exercise, and would cajole him into pushing all the furniture in his room to one side—because her room was too small or she had just cleaned it and didn't want to mess it up or because his room afforded better audience seating—and they would do a floor routine she had come up with herself. Back then he would have done anything his sister told him to do—not that a whole lot had changed in his life—and it would have never occurred to him that a four-year-old boy should have been outside destroying plastic army men in the sand than practicing his pirouettes and front flips.

Now he was just grateful for his sister and her single-minded focus. He had forgotten almost everything from that point in his life, not to mention puberty had pretty much destroyed whatever coordination he might have had at that age, but he still remembered how to do a few maneuvers that his sister had drilled into his head.

Mustering up what little strength he had left, and clenching his teeth against the pain and lightheadedness that overcame him, he lifted his legs straight into the air, pulled his knees toward his chest, pushed up with his arms, tucked his chin in, and threw his legs backwards. He flipped end over end haphazardly, landing on his stomach. Okay, so it was more than a little awkward, but he had gotten the job done.

He got on his knees, almost fell forward due to dizziness, stabilized himself, and then dug the Glock out of his pants. He had never been more grateful for Casey than he was in the next few moments.

_Remember: steady breathing, maintain your balance, just lightly squeeze the trigger, and for Christ's sake, Bartowski, stop closing your eyes!_

With Casey's words ringing in his head, he aimed at the closest man to him and fired once. In rapid succession, he shifted his aim and fired three more times.

After that, it was total chaos.

* * *

She heard the gunshots long before they ever got to the hallway.

Each gunshot was like a punch to the stomach or a bell going off in her head. They disoriented her and made bile rise up in her throat. Chuck was fighting for his life and her worthless legs could not move fast enough.

She had started to accept that maybe Chuck was still alive after they had run into Carina. When she had learned that Carina had actually spoken to Chuck not more than five minutes ago, she had felt such relief and giddiness that she had almost collapsed to the floor. The guilt started to fade away and she found a renewed sense of determination to find Chuck and save him.

Added to her new sense of optimism was her unending surprise that the confrontation between herself and Carina had been relatively minor. The red head had simply looked at her with unvarnished disdain and hatred, but she had said very little. She had more than expected Carina to attack her, or at the very least, threaten her life. But the woman had done nothing of the sort, only bringing them up to speed on Chuck's situation and effectively taking command of their little party with a practiced familiarity that was disconcerting to someone who was so used to being in charge of her own team.

Apparently, Carina was either too professional to let her personal feelings get in the way—which infuriated her because if the situations were reversed, and she was in Carina's shoes, she wasn't entirely sure she'd be able to keep things professional herself and it annoyed her immensely to think that Carina might actually be a better agent than her—or she was too preoccupied with worry over Chuck to focus on such insignificant things like her intense hatred for one Sarah Walker to get in the way of doing her job.

It had only further annoyed her that she was essentially taking orders from Carina, but she kept telling herself she was doing so for practicality purposes only. The only thing that mattered was saving Chuck, and if that meant she had to swallow her pride, bite her tongue, and do what she was told, then she would. For the time being. Once Chuck was okay, though, she promised herself all bets were off.

They were running through the halls now. Carina and Larkin were moving at a nice clip; she was having real problems keeping up. She could feel herself becoming increasingly winded and exhausted. The nerves she felt over hearing the gunshots did little to calm her riotous stomach. If they didn't stop soon, she was probably going to throw up. But she only pushed herself to move faster.

"Left turn, then 50 meters. Casey says Chuck's in an old maintenance hallway," Carina barked out to Larkin, her breathing only marginally labored. That pissed her off more than anything; the self-righteous bitch was even in better shape than she was. Carina didn't even make an effort to include her in her update. Larkin just nodded his head and both of them sped up even more.

When they heard the automatic weapons fire begin, Carina and Larkin exchanged very brief glances before exploding into a straight out sprint as they careened around the hallway, leaving her laboring behind.

She finally rounded the corner and was dismayed to see Carina and Larkin already two-thirds of the way down the hallway. There was a large, heavy looking steel door blocking their way, and the sound of gunfire was definitely coming from behind it. She tapped the last of her energy reserves and felt herself increasing her speed. She was still far behind her two companions, who were now at the door.

Carina came to an abrupt halt, yanked a flashbang off the belt around her waist and then tossed the flashbang to Larkin. She swung her MP5 into position and poised in anticipation in front of the door. Larkin grabbed hold of the large door handle, and held up a hand; he counted down from three before yanking the door open and tossing into the hallway the flashbang. He hurriedly pulled the door back closed, again counted down to three, before he yanked the door open again.

Carina didn't even wait until the door was open all the way before she stormed through the doorway. Larkin only waited long enough for Carina to pass completely through into the other hallway before he followed. She could hear the distinctly closer sounding gunshots from their weapons and then Carina's anguished cry of Chuck's name.

She finally reached the door and made herself slow down. It would do her no good to go running blindly into the situation. She had to do this right. Unfortunately, her slowed pace happened too abruptly and she stumbled through the doorway. Her knees wobbled and she had to slump against a wall briefly to gather her wits. After a three second respite, she was back up and moving deeper into the hallway, anxiously looking for Chuck.

About 5 meters into the hallway, there were two bodies in tactical gear. Both had gunshot wounds to their knees, but it were the multiple shots to their chest and head that had killed them. She assumed it had been Carina and Larkin that had finished them off, and once again she found herself becoming piqued at the fact that Carina was clearly as good a shot as she was.

"Where the hell is he!?" Carina yelled. Her eyes were wild and she kept turning around in a tight circle, like she couldn't spend too long facing one direction because Chuck might suddenly appear behind her.

"Carina, calm down, he's not here. But that's a good thing because it probably means he's still alive, okay?" Larkin cautioned. She frowned at Larkin but he clearly didn't see her doing so as his attention was completely focused on Carina. Telling Carina that Chuck was _probably_ still alive was not really helping at the moment. He placed a hesitant hand on Carina's arm, which she wasted no time in knocking off.

She whirled on Larkin and shoved him away from her. "He's not fucking here!" she yelled at Larkin. Then Carina was furiously barking into her radio, interrogating Casey as to Chuck's whereabouts. "Where is he, Casey?" Carina's face darkened and she watched Carina's hands tighten on the stock of her gun. "I swear to God, Casey, if you sent me to the wrong place, I will fucking kill you," she seethed into her com.

Carina listened to whatever Casey was telling her, her face a whirling mass of anger, fear, and apprehension. Suddenly, Carina started to run deeper into the hallway. She groaned pitifully at the sight, but didn't hesitate in following Carina. She didn't think she could run another step, yet somehow, she still managed to. She felt Larkin settle into keep pace with her, instead of Carina, which surprised her.

What surprised her even more is what he said to her next. "Look, I think maybe you should get out of here."

She sucked in a large gasp of air before she could reply. "What are you saying? I have to find Chuck. I can't leave."

"You don't understand, Sarah. We have to consider that maybe something has happened to Chuck." She started to suck in another gulp of air but Larkin cut her off quickly with a frustrated chop of his hand. "I'm serious! You should be considering it at the very least."

"Why?" she gasped out.

"Because if Chuck's dead, Sarah, Carina will kill you. I'm not kidding. She won't hesitate; she won't think about it, she'll just do it. And if I try to stop her, she'll probably kill me too."

She genuinely appreciated his concern. Other than Chuck, he was the first person in some time that she could remember actually expressing real concern for her wellbeing, but there was no way she could leave Chuck. She owed him. "I'm willing to take my chances," she said.

The both of them pulled up to a stumbling, awkward halt at the sight before them. Chuck was sitting up against a wall, left hand pressed firmly to his lower left abdomen, blood seeping out between his fingers. He was breathing shallow and sweating profusely. He had the Glock she had returned to him grasped firmly in his right hand and it was pointed steadily at a man dressed in black lying beside him on the floor.

Carina was on her knees in front of Chuck, naked horror and worry written clearly across her whole face. "Chuck, are you okay," she asked quietly.

Chuck laughed weakly and smiled, "Just peachy." He pointed toward the man in black with his gun. "He's still alive but Agent Red got away. I don't think he's going to get very far though." Chuck grinned and sat up a little straighter even though it caused him to wince sharply in pain. "I shot him in the leg."

Carina laughed and she watched in amazement as the red head's eyes started to water. "That's great, Chuck. You did a good job." Carina spun her head to look at her and Larkin, just standing there. "Bryce," she snapped, "go find Red and bring him back here. I want him alive if possible, but if you need to kill him, well..." she trailed off. There was something in her tone that led her to believe that she would be perfectly fine if Larkin was forced to kill the traitorous agent.

"Carina – " Larkin started to say but was cut off.

"Now, Bryce!"

Larkin rolled his eyes slightly and gave her a mock salute, but he quickly moved to comply with her command. "Right away, ma'am," he said.

After Larkin disappeared into the shadows, Carina shifted her attention to her. The red head's watery eyes peered intently at her. She was starting to feel intensely uncomfortable, like she was intruding on an incredibly private moment between Chuck and Carina. She knew that the relationship the two of them had was different than anything she had experienced in her life, and she couldn't help but feel out of place. And also intensely jealous; she was starting to understand the kind of feelings Chuck must get when he thought about her and Larkin together. She simultaneously wanted to throw up and bash Carina's head into the nearest wall.

She really wanted to be the one sitting next to Chuck, trying to comfort him, but she was pretty certain that if she tried to insinuate herself there, Carina would kill her. "Walker, get your skinny ass over here and make yourself useful," Carina snapped. Carina turned back to Chuck and gently removed his left hand to look at his wound. She sucked in a breath and shook her head. "Oh, Chuck…" she said, her voice wavering.

"I know, I know, I'm in trouble. I swear though, this time it was only partially my fault," Chuck said.

She very slowly walked over to Chuck. She didn't know what she should be feeling at the moment. Incredible guilt, yes, and desperate fear as well, but there was also a roiling cauldron of unidentifiable emotions churning in her stomach too. This was her fault. Chuck was sitting here, lying against a wall, bleeding, because of her. She suddenly just wanted to run away and never look back.

Very quietly, barely above a whisper, she asked hoarsely, "What happened?"

Carina had removed her hand from Chuck's wound and was making a makeshift bandage. Carina roughly grabbed her hand, shoved the bandage into it, and then took the hand and pressed it against the wound. "Keep pressure there," she ordered tightly.

She almost rolled her eyes, like of course she was supposed to put pressure there. What else was she going to do? But she didn't think Carina would appreciate that very much, and at the moment, she very much needed to stay on Carina's good side. Without Chuck being able to intercede on her behalf, she was practically entirely at Carina's mercy.

She watched with sick fascination as the cloth bandage she held against Chuck slowly darkened with blood. The warm feeling she felt from his blood made her shiver and she had to look away. This could not be happening. Chuck was not going to die. Why wasn't Carina calling for medical help? What was wrong with her!? She should have already alerted Casey to Chuck's status by now.

She felt somebody's eyes on her and looked up to find Chuck staring intently at her. He smiled at her and she felt her stomach drop. "I'm happy to see you're all right." Then he frowned and narrowed his eyes. "But you look like crap. Are you feeling okay?"

She practically threw up right then and there. This whole situation made her sick. The fact that Chuck was asking if _she_ were okay made her sick. The guilt and shame was nearly overwhelming.

Carina groaned and gently grabbed Chuck's chin so that he was looking at her. "Focus, Chuck. Answer Blondie's question."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled goofily. It was obvious that he was at least partially delirious with pain and probably wasn't fully aware of his surroundings.

"What always happens in these kinds of situations? I get in over my head, I get hurt, and then you save me like usual. Personally, I'm a big fan of consistency. Aren't you?"

She couldn't help it, she snorted in nervous amusement as Carina rolled her eyes. "Chuck, _please_. Who is this guy?"

"No idea, I swear." He moistened his lips with his tongue. "Agent Red said that he wasn't Fulcrum, but that they were giving me to him because of…well, you know." He not so furtively indicated at her with his eyes and Carina briefly looked up at her before focusing back on Chuck. "After I tried to shoot the four of them, things got really crazy. I made sure that this guy didn't get away so that Casey would have a chance to talk to him."

She growled in anger as she looked at the man in black still lying unmoving on the floor. She felt a sudden, nearly uncontrollable desire to kill the man. He was responsible for this mess. No, you're responsible, a voice yelled in the back of her head. The voice was right, but the man was a much easier target for her wrath. "You should have killed them," she said harshly.

Chuck actually glared at her. "I subscribe to the Shepherd Book philosophy on gunfights, okay?"

Carina let out a long laugh, an easy smile blossoming on her pretty face. For the first time since she had found Chuck, the red head looked almost relaxed. She only frowned, having absolutely no idea what Chuck was talking about, and again felt annoyed at Chuck for not giving a very serious situation the proper amount of respect it deserved.

"Chuck…Book killed the Alliance men in _Serenity_. Sometimes, you know, shooting the bad guys in the leg isn't enough," Carina said exasperatedly and carefully brushed Chuck's forehead free of some of his hair.

Chuck laughed in return but his laughs quickly became wracking coughs and Carina's face quickly returned back to worry. "In retrospect, I don't think I thought the whole thing through very well, but in my defense, I had just had my head bashed in—twice!—so when you think about it, you should be praising me for even having the presence of mind to shoot them period, so there," Chuck rambled. His eyes were becoming increasingly unfocused and had started to droop.

Carina leaned forward and gently grabbed Chuck's head with both hands so that he'd be forced to focus on her. "Chuck, what else can you tell me? Are they working with Beckman? Did Red say anything else about why he let Fulcrum into the facility?" Chuck only licked his lips multiple times, and didn't say anything. "Chuck…"

Chuck's breathing shallowed and his eyes closed. "Ummm…I think I'm going to pass out now," Chuck said.

He then promptly did just that.

Carina settled back and sighed, her face clearly distraught.

She couldn't take it any longer. She whirled on Carina and asked angrily, "What are you waiting for? He needs to see a doctor!"

Carina's fist snapped forward and hit her squarely in the face, knocking her backwards. She let out a cry, more from shock than pain, and stared at Carina in disbelief as she gently rubbed her cheek. Carina stood up and snarled down at her, "You shut the fuck up. You don't know what's going on and it's your fault he's hurt in the first place!" She yelled out in frustration, "I should kill you!"

"Then why don't you?"

"Oh believe me, I want to. You have no idea how badly I want to," she said through gritted teeth. She dry washed her hands and constantly grabbed onto the belt around her waist, like she was desperately trying to find some way to keep her hands occupied so she wouldn't do something unfortunate. Like attack her. She shifted her attention to Chuck. "But then he would probably never forgive me."

She blinked slowly at that and also looked at Chuck. His skin looked pale and, considering how dark it was in the hallway, that was not really a good sign if it was that obvious. "Look, Carina, you're right, I don't know what's going on. But Chuck _needs_ to see a doctor." Carina needed to see reason here. They could hash out their differences later but they needed to focus on Chuck right now.

Carina stared at her and said nothing. She just stared. It felt like her skin was being pealed away and Carina was digging inside of her for whatever she was searching for. Finally, Carina stopped staring and grabbed hold of her MP5. She tensed, expecting the woman to try and shoot her. Instead, Carina asked, "You like him, don't you?"

"I…I don't know," she said. That was as honest, or as confident, as she was feeling right now.

Carina pursed her lips in thought, her steady, cool eyes on her the whole time. "At least you're honest about that," Carina said. She walked over to the man lying on the ground and looked over her shoulder. "You want to help Chuck?"

"Yes."

"You want to save him?"

"Yes," she said again. Just where was Carina going with this?

"Good." Carina pointed the MP5 at the man lying on the floor and put one round into his head. "It's too risky to leave witnesses."

"He could have provided valuable intel on what's going on," she protested.

Carina just shrugged, completely indifferent. "Don't care." Carina slipped the strap of her MP5 over her shoulder and rested it carefully across her front. "He could've told the bosses about Chuck's condition. The less they know the better."

She carefully climbed to her feet and did her best to not look as lost and confused as she was. "What about Larkin? He knows too."

Carina shrugged her shoulder again. She could not believe how indifferent the red head was acting. "When he finds us missing, he'll realize what's happening and keep his mouth shut. Besides, as long as he's still here, he can help us by running interference."

"Interference?"

Carina nodded and motioned with her head for her to move toward Chuck's feet. "We can't take Chuck anywhere where my bosses might be able to find him. I don't trust them right now."

"You're taking him off the grid?"

"Don't sound surprised. My job, Walker, my ONLY job is keeping Chuck safe. That's my only priority. That means sometimes not doing what the brass says. You'd know that if you weren't such a massive fuck-up."

She grabbed hold of Chuck's feet and together they started to carefully move Chuck back the way they came. She wanted to respond to Carina's insult but couldn't think of anything to say. The woman was pretty much right. "So where are we going to take him?"

"I'm still thinking about that. I'll let you know when it comes to me."

Wonderful. "That's some plan."

Carina chuckled and actually smiled at her. It was the first time that the woman had ever genuinely smiled at her. It shocked her so much she nearly dropped Chuck's feet. "I think you'll find out, Walker, if you last long enough, that planning like that is just how Team Bartowski rolls."

When she had hoped that she could be with Chuck, away from the CIA and her prison, this was most definitely not what she had in mind.

The two moved down the darkened hallway, Chuck in their arms, and she had no idea what was going to happen next.

* * *

So what happens next? A very good question. Let's see...things to look forward to in the next arc... Sarah and Carina have an extended conversation and come to an understanding (kind of), Sarah and Casey bond (in ways you may not expect), the identity of the Intersect is revealed (in a way you should see coming), we learn more about Sarah's past and just what led her into Fulcrum (partially), Bryce saves the day (repeatedly), and oh yeah, how could I forget, Sarah and Chuck get closer (sort of).


	12. Transitions

**Author's Note:** First thing I guess I should do here is clarify what appears to be a point of contention among you, my awesome readers. When I said that Double Agent had three arcs, I meant that it has three, somewhat self-contained, relatable plot arcs. Not that there are three separate stories. Think of it like how the show would occasionally have plot arcs during the season (Jill arc, Cole arc, Orion arc, etc.) but it was still the same overall season. That's what's going on here. For the first arc, much of the story is about Chuck and Sarah getting to know each other, with most of the chapters taking place in the same location. For the second arc, it will be similar; things will follow along a shared thematic whole.

So with that said, this is the first chapter of the second arc of this story. This arc will be a bit more plot heavy than the first arc, and if things actually go according to plan, will move faster too. There should be some big Charah development as well, eventually. Probably. If I'm in the mood.

Thank you to all those who have read this story and left me all your awesome reviews. I've never had a story that even came close to the number of reviews that this story has, so you guys really are amazing. Thank you to **Wepdiggy**, who has been an immense help with this fic in general, and gave me some great insight for the next few chapters in particular. Also, he tolerates all my way too in-depth, long winded analyzation of Sarah's characterization, backstory, and psychological motivations. And I guess, a shout out to **malamoo** for knowing how to get what she wants. If it weren't for her, I'd probably have not even started this arc yet.

Also, if you have the time and if you are a fan of my writing, please visit my profile and vote in the poll I have set-up there. It's to help me get a sense of what people want me to do next. **So pleae vote!**

* * *

When they emerged from inside the facility, the sun was just beginning to rise in the east. It was still dark, but the sky was beginning to tinge purple, and with being this close to Los Angeles, it was hard to tell the difference between dawn and the middle of the night anyway.

"About 100 meters to your left, there is a dark blue Explorer. That's where we're headed," Carina informed her. Her voice was strained and distracted, which was understandable since they had been carting Chuck's body between them for the better part of 10 minutes. Chuck might not have been as big as John Casey, but he still easily had at least 60 pounds on either of them, and she was not in very good shape to begin with. Her arms burned with the desperate effort to keep Chuck relatively level and immobile, and had almost lost her grip on his feet multiple times.

But she did not drop him. She couldn't. He was depending on her; her and Carina. If they couldn't get him away from the facility and to a doctor soon, he would die. His breathing was already shallow and faint, and they could not afford to waste any time resting. She refused to let Chuck die. She had already thought once before that he was dead and it had nearly destroyed her feeble grasp on her psyche. She would not put herself through that again. Keeping Chuck alive was nothing more than self-preservation. Or at least that's what she tried to tell herself. She didn't like thinking of the fact that she had already become so emotionally attached to the man that the thought of him dying was too terrible and detrimental to her emotional wellbeing to imagine.

That was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

She needed to stop worrying about unimportant things like what, if any, feelings she had for the man in her arms, and start focusing on things like keeping said man alive.

Carina had already removed the GPS device Chuck apparently always had on him and destroyed it, as well as destroyed both of his secure cell phones, _her_ secure cell phone, and the entire security data server for the facility. That one had been surprisingly easy to accomplish. It was amazing what a fragmentation grenade could do when placed in the right spot. After Carina's reign of destruction was over, they had continued on their way, the both of them visibly lighter after doing what they could to ensure a successful escape.

Carina's thoroughness hadn't surprised her. It was obvious the woman took her protection of Chuck very seriously. What had surprised her, though, was the GPS device. Just who was Chuck Bartowski? In all her years, she had only heard of two other persons of interest that warranted that kind of constant surveillance and they had been very important people. She had been part of a Fulcrum team that had killed one of them, and heard of another team that protected the other. She had always done her best to avoid asset protection. It was simply too static for her and too much potential for something to go wrong. And yet here she was, involved up to her ears in what was quickly turning into her own protection mission.

It seemed that no matter what she had done in her past life, as she had started to think of everything before Chuck, it was simply being erased and rendered irrelevant. Chuck would probably tell her that this was how her life was supposed to turn out, but he was an eternal optimist. He actually thought that somewhere inside of her there was a real, good person.

"So have you come up with a plan yet?" she asked in between deep gasps.

Carina's eyes briefly locked on her before going back to scanning in front of them. Since she was at Chuck's feet, she was walking backwards and couldn't see anything behind her. She was entirely dependant on Carina to be like eyes in the back of her head.

It was a very uncomfortable position to be in, but she didn't really have any choice. She hated putting her trust in any person's hands at the best of times, but now? It absolutely terrified her. Focusing on Chuck helped push those feelings to the side and allowed her to accept her reality for what it was. Carina clearly held all the power in their current arrangement and as long as that was true, it was not smart to try and assert herself.

"Yes," Carina said curtly.

When Carina didn't explain, she rolled her eyes. "Well, care to elaborate?" Some beads of sweat fell into her eyes and she desperately wanted to wipe them away.

"I'm thinking on it."

She huffed in frustration and felt a spasm in her arms. She nearly lost her hold on Chuck's feet and had to suck in a quick breath to bolster her concentration. "You know, Carina, like it or not, we're partners at the moment. You need to tell me what you're thinking so that I can help you."

"I know that," snapped Carina petulantly.

She didn't really blame Carina for her reticence. To her it made complete sense, because if the situations were reversed, she knew that Carina would be the last person she'd confide in. But the moment dictated cooperation and teamwork, if only temporarily. Right now, both her life and Chuck's life were in Carina's hands. As long as she was kept in the dark about what the plan was, then both her and Chuck's life were in danger. That was unacceptable.

"I know that you don't like me, Carina, but –"

Carina cut her off with a harsh snarl. "I _hate_ you."

She winced but managed to fight off her instinctive response to retaliate with vitriol in kind. "Believe me, I'm not too fond of you myself, but –"

Again, Carina cut her off, this time with a sigh. "But you're right, I know."

She blinked at Carina's admission and quickly jumped on it while it was still warm. "That's right, I am. So please would you tell me what the hell we're going to do? Chuck needs help now, Carina."

"I know," Carina said, like it was completely self-evident and her repeating the refrain was unnecessary and annoying. "But it has to be done the right way or else there's no point."

"Then what the hell is the 'right way'?"

"We're here," Carina said simply.

Carina went into a kind of squat, forcing her to assume a similar position, and rested as much as Chuck's upper body on her thighs as she could. It provided just enough necessary support so that Carina could fish a set of car keys out of a pocket.

Carina looked up at her with a frown. "How good is your combat medic training?"

She really didn't like where this level of questioning was heading but she responded anyway with as much honesty as she could. "Fair." She nervously darted her eyes down to Chuck's injured body and swallowed. Realizing that her assessment of her skills might mean Carina entrusting Chuck into her care, she hastily added, "But to be honest, Fulcrum didn't exactly put much emphasis on field medicine, if you know what I mean."

She almost broke out in a fit of hysterical giggles. Fulcrum hadn't put _any_ emphasis on field medicine. To them, all agents were ultimately expendable and if an agent was injured enough while in the field that he required any medical procedure beyond cleaning a scrape or bandaging a wound, then that agent was simply shit out of luck.

Carina harrumphed sourly. "Damn, that's still better than me."

She widened her eyes in naked fright. Oh no. NO. Carina could not make her responsible for looking after Chuck. No! What if she screwed up? What if she didn't know enough and he died because of her ignorance or incompetence? This was insanity! Carina could not do this to her. She could feel the panic clawing at her, digging into her, consuming her.

"Under the backseat there is a first aid kit. It should have everything you need to clean the wound, bandage it, and keep his fluids up until we can get him to my safe house."

Under normal circumstances, she would never resort to what she was about to do, but this was so far beyond normal that she couldn't even think straight. So she begged, "Carina, please, don't make me do this. _Please_."

Carina growled at her, "I don't have time for your insecurity bullshit, Walker."

Carina then unlocked the car, motioned with her head that she was standing up, and then moved toward the back door so that they could open the door and slide Chuck in. Once Chuck was lying down as horizontally as his lanky frame would allow, Carina practically forced her to climb in alongside him.

"I'll drive while you get to work," Carina said uncaringly.

She shot Carina's back the filthiest, nastiest, most murderous glare in her repertoire, and then reluctantly turned toward Chuck.

God, he looked so pale. She could do this. She could. If only her hands would stop shaking. She shut her eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and then got started.

# # # # #

She had just finished applying the last of the tape to the bandage on Chuck's side when Carina looked over her shoulder to check her progress. "How is he," Carina asked worriedly.

"As best I can tell, not great. He's lost a lot of blood and I have no idea where the bullet is. Fortunately, I think the bleeding has stopped. Unfortunately, that's not necessarily a good thing, as it could mean that the bullet has gotten itself stuck somewhere it shouldn't be."

Carina sighed forlornly and turned back to watch the road. "I was afraid of that," she said. Then Carina brought a weary hand up to her forehead and rubbed the skin there. "God, he's never going to forgive me for this," she whispered.

She wanted to ask what Carina was going on about, but the woman was clearly lost in her own world and she didn't feel like intruding. She was trying her best to maintain good terms with Carina and she didn't want to backslide. Plus, she would never get Chuck to choose her over Carina if they were constantly fighting. The best way of taking Carina's place in Chuck's life was to draw as little attention to the fact that she _was_ trying to replace her.

Carina seemed to settle whatever internal issue she had been dealing with and again looked over her shoulder. "Under the seat there is a bag. Get it."

She carefully studied Carina's face for some hint as to her thought process, but as usual, the red head's brain was an enigma to her. She quickly gave up and complied with the woman's order.

She settled on her knees and bent forward so that she could more easily search under the back seat for the bag. Her hand landed on canvas and she hurriedly pulled the duffel bag out from under the seat. She climbed into the passenger seat and settled the bag on her lap.

She didn't wait for Carina to tell her to open it, as she was more than capable of at least making _that_ leap in logic, and quickly found herself in deep surprise. Inside the bag were two sets of clothes, one clearly intended for a man and the other a woman. There were toiletries and food rations. There was an unknown amount of cash in two Ziploc bags, multiple passports, birth certificates, and alternative id's. There was also a Sig P228 with four accompanying magazines, and several cell phones. It looked like a burn bag and was evidence that Carina had been preparing for a day like today for some time.

"How long have you had this?" she asked with some awe in her voice. It wasn't the bag that amazed her. She had seemed similar bags countless times during her time in the spy business, and had even occasionally made one for herself. No, it was the implication that Carina had clearly made this for her _and_ Chuck that surprised her. It was true. Carina really was as dedicated to him as she claimed.

"Three years, seven months, and 22 days," Carina said through thin, tight lips. Her hands were holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

"Wow, that's…uh…kind of specific."

Carina shrugged her shoulders and maintained her eyes straight ahead. "That was the day my life changed forever, kind of hard to forget."

"How so," she asked curiously.

"That was the day that I decided if it was necessary…" she trailed off and then swallowed, her voice returning with more strength. "That was the day I decided that if it was necessary for Chuck to run, I would go with him." Carina finally turned to face her and her gray eyes were so intense that they forced her to look away. "Everything I do is now done with that contingency in mind."

"I update it every three months or so," Carina added somewhat sheepishly, her intensity gone.

"I'm…impressed. I guess I never really believed Chuck when he said you were his friend."

"I'm not," Carina said stiffly.

Now she was just confused.

"A friend is somebody you have a drink with or go to the movies with or talk to two or three times a week," Carina said. "Chuck is so much more to me than that."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" She asked matter of fact, not nearly as afraid to hear the answer as she thought she might be. Maybe it was because she already knew what the answer was.

"No," Carina said so quietly it was barely a whisper. Carina shook her head and then glared at her. "That's not really important right now, Blondie."

Right. Of course not. Not like I believe you anyway. "Sorry I asked," she said.

"Grab one of the burners," Carina snapped impatiently.

She fished out one of the prepaid cell phones and turned it on. She waited expectantly, like a good little secret agent. If Carina was just going to order her around, then she didn't see any point in trying to relate to the woman as a fellow human being.

"Dial this number," Carina said and then rattled off a phone number. Once the number was inserted into the phone, she pressed the call button. "When somebody answers, ask for the Alejandro brothers."

She arched an eyebrow at that but did as she was told. After five rings, a male answered with a cautious, "Hello."

"I would like to speak with the Alejandro brothers," she said hesitantly.

"Which one?" the voice asked.

"Uh…" she said intelligently into the phone before she turned and asked Carina, "Which one?"

Carina frowned and licked her lips quickly. "Um...Rodrigo."

She repeated the name into the phone and the man on the other end clearly relaxed. "Go on," he said.

She turned back to look at Carina expectantly. "Well?"

"Repeat these words exactly: Blue Charlie Blue Echo Foxtrot Bravo Blue India Blue Bravo."

She just stared at Carina in flabbergasted disbelief, waiting for the red head to crack a smile and confess that the whole thing was a joke. When that didn't happen, she quickly composed her face into a more professional mask.

Carina barked, "Do it!"

She took in a deep breath and put aside her feelings of foolishness to repeat the words.

When she finished there was only silence on the other end. Then, the man said, "Understood," and ended the call.

At a loss as to what was going on, she said sarcastically, "That was a lot of fun."

"I just got us a doctor," Carina growled at her. "So shut the fuck up."

# # # # #

They had ridden in silence for some time. She would occasionally move into the back to check on Chuck. There was not much she could do for him but changing out his IV bag when necessary and making sure he was doped up enough to stay unconscious. At least he seemed stable.

Unable to take the silence any longer, which was unusual for her as she spent most of her life not talking, she asked Carina the one question that had been bothering her since Carina killed the mysterious agent back in the detention facility and then went on her electronics massacre. "Why are we running?"

Carina didn't answer right away. In fact, she appeared as if she hadn't heard, so she repeated her question. Carina slowly turned her head and frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

"I don't understand. Why is it so important that Chuck goes off the grid?"

"I told you," Carina said patiently, "it's highly probable that at least one of our superiors tried to have Chuck killed."

"Okay…I get that, but why?" She didn't mean to push Carina, but she deserved to know what she was getting herself into. "I mean, I've managed to put together the fact that Chuck is your team leader…"

"Chuck is not the team leader," Carina snorted in amusement. "He often acts like he is because nobody knows how to say no to him, but I'm project lead."

She blinked her eyes at that. That she had not expected, although now that she thought about it, it made a lot of sense. The way Carina ordered Larkin back in the hallway, the constant overprotective hovering around Chuck, the way she seemed to have access to everywhere and everything in the facility. And it did not escape her notice that Carina had said _project_ and not team. Another suspicion about Chuck and who her captors were was now confirmed. She had known from the beginning that there was more to Chuck than being just a simple agent. If Chuck and Carina were part of some top secret CIA project, then that might explain Carina's extreme security measures.

"See, that doesn't actually clarify things. Chuck's not even your project leader, why would the CIA care what happens to him?" Chuck might have been important to her, and she knew that Chuck had to hold some position of importance in the CIA, but she didn't know why and if she was going to run with him, she needed to know. If it took dragging the information from Carina through a painstaking, teeth pulling, interrogation, then so be it. "Normally if the higher ups want to get rid of you, they issue a burn notice, redact your file, and make a convenient phone call to the last person you pissed off most. That's the end of it. They don't normally go to so much trouble that you've got to use a different burner for _every damn phone call_. They only do that for the people that actually matter."

She was still annoyed that Carina had made her go through four different phones arranging things for when they arrived at Carina's safe house. Apparently, the Alejandro brothers had needed a lot of things explained before they were ready to carry out whatever plans Carina had set in motion.

"Chuck is…important," Carina said.

"Define important," she asked tightly. She'd spent a lot of time in the intelligence business and had learned a long time ago that the word important had many different definitions.

"I can't even tell you that."

"But why?"

"I can't tell you that either," Carina said. She was surprised to notice, however, that there seemed to be actual remorse in Carina's tone. Did Carina actually feel bad that she couldn't tell her more? Maybe the red head was starting to warm up to her.

"You mean you won't tell me," she said.

"No, I mean I _can't_," Carina said through gritted teeth. Then she relaxed and her grip on the steering wheel lessened. "Look, you know that old cliché about how I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you?" She nodded her head and Carina smiled tightly at her. "In this case, it's not really a cliché."

"Chuck's really that important?"

"Yes. He's literally one of a kind, and I don't mean that figuratively." She paused, licked her lips, and then sighed. "Even telling you that was probably too much."

"So they're really not going to stop looking for him until they find him," she surmised.

"Correct."

She chuckled quietly and brushed some hair behind her ear. "Just what the hell did I get myself into?"

It was a rhetorical question but Carina answered her anyway. "It could be worse," Carina said good-naturedly.

"How the hell could it be worse?" she asked with wide eyes.

"If you had said no back in the hallway, I would have killed you." Carina smiled at her then, and there was a feral, lethal stillness in her eyes.

"Oh," she said. "Fair enough."

* * *

**Next Chapter**: _Confessions, Part One_ - Ominous title, no? Perhaps. Oh and we get one step closer to figuring out if Chuck survives his wounds. I mean, there is a chance he could die, right?


	13. Confessions, Part One

**Author's Note:** So two milestones recently happened with this story. I reached 350 reviews (Thanks a lot **PumpkinEscobar**!) and I reached 100 story alerts. You guys are awesome. You make writing this story actually worthwhile.

As usual, a big thank you to **Wepdiggy** for his assistance. If you aren't reading his stories, you should be, as he's got a wicked sense of humor and a pretty unique interpretation of _Chuck_. And of course, this A/N wouldn't be complete without acknowledging my tireless, greedy taskmaster. I'll figure some way to get out from under your thumb eventually, **moo**. Just you wait.

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Silence had reigned in the car for the last 15 minutes.

It was not unwelcome.

There was very little for the two of them to talk about anyway. What could they discuss?

How much they hated each other?

How jealous they were of each other?

How much they wanted to kill, beat, or maim the other?

How they stopped themselves from following through on their impulses, how they forged a temporary alliance, how they allowed their goals to mesh and interlock together all because of one man?

That was not a conversation worth having. It was clearly not something either of them wanted to bring up. They probably couldn't describe or explain their feelings anyway. How they were like, what they were like, who they were like, was too enormous a mountain to overcome in one conversation.

Then Carina started talking and it was like none of that mattered. It was like it ceased to exist. There was just the rhythm of the Explorer cruising along I5, the quiet background hum of the radio tuned to 106.7 FM, and Carina's lilting, smooth, affect-free voice.

"I was a cop once," Carina started. "And I loved it."

She didn't say anything. She was too afraid to say anything.

"I knew exactly what I wanted to do growing up. I wanted to be a cop. I wanted to see the world and help people. I believed in justice and doing what was right and standing up for something you believed in," Carina said. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the road ahead of them. "I got my B.S. in Criminal Justice in three years and joined the DEA at 21."

Try as she might, she honestly couldn't picture Carina as a federal law enforcement officer, let alone somebody that worked for the DEA. She was too unpredictable, too hot-headed, too intractable for a government bureaucracy that had rules and standards and codes. But maybe that was why it made sense. Carina's personality seemed perfectly tailored for the unpredictable, volatile, bacchanalian nature of the drug trade.

"For two years I worked mainly out of Miami. Going to night clubs every night, infiltrating some damn McMansion every week, hunting FARC or the Cubans or the Russians every month." Carina sighed and reached to raise the volume of the radio just a little bit more. "It was not what I had imagined." The regret and longing in Carina's voice was incredibly palpable.

She knew exactly what Carina meant. She had initially joined the CIA out of a desire for vengeance, but her time in the welcoming embrace of the Agency had quickly changed her motivations to include duty, sacrifice, and honor. She had thought she had found her home. A place where they appreciated that she could become anyone she wanted at the snap of her fingers, that lying came as easy to her as breathing, and that she could twist a person around her finger with little to no effort. They helped her. They respected her. They _loved_ her.

She had believed that up until they sent her on her first assignment. It had been a simple information retrieval assignment: Find her mark, clone his hard drive, plant a tracing bug on his computer, and then come home. It was supposed to be easy; like riding a bike with training wheels. She was Graham's prized bull; it wouldn't do to expend her on some impossible feat for her first mission. It was obvious that her benefactor had wanted to ease her into the espionage world. At least, it had been obvious until the man ordered her to fuck her mark and then kill him right after. Her eyes had been opened then. That had been only the start of her downward spiral.

"Nobody expects it. You sign up, all full of naïve optimism, and all you can think is that 'Here I am. I've made it and I'm going to change the world.' Nobody expects that they'll ask you to be some greasy scumbag's whore, all for the chance to spot an errant phone number or recognize some drug pushing, child murdering mother fucker's face."

Carina frowned, like she was angry at herself for losing her cool, and smoothed her face back to its impassive façade. "I got out of there as soon as I could. I still believed I could help people, and that I could make a difference, but I didn't want to be anyone's whore anymore. I didn't want to stand on the sidelines anymore while other people were out there kicking ass. I wanted in the shit. I wanted to bust down the doors, I wanted to jump into the middle of some Colombian jungle and capture some cartel Jefe, I wanted to hump 20 klicks in-country so I could destroy some Afghani poppy field."

Carina's eyes were not looking at the road anymore, they were staring at only something she could see. "I wanted a MET, I wanted to know that I was directly making a difference. ME. I wanted to be able to look in those bastards' eyes as I arrested them." She smiled faintly then. "I got my assignment."

"Los Angeles," she heard herself say out loud. She hadn't really meant to speak. Carina seemed to be in some kind of trance, barely even aware she was sitting next to her, and she hadn't wanted to ruin that. But she had a feeling of where the conversation was headed.

Carina nodded and her smile grew a little wider. "Los Angeles."

It figured. She had only known Carina for a few weeks, had had only what might be charitable to call two conversations with her, and yet she knew enough about the woman that only Chuck Bartowski could put that smile on her face and the liveliness in her eyes. Carina was a woman that was hopelessly compromised and probably didn't even know it; at least not to the extent that it was obvious for anyone who bothered to look at her.

"I did my best to make my mark. It wasn't hard. Somebody like me, we stand out," Carina said with only a hint of arrogance.

Carina was not that far from the truth. A woman that looked and acted like Carina would stand out anywhere.

"Then it came," Carina said. "It was an invitation to the Show; a chance to make a name for myself. A chance to ensure that I would never have to be seen as just some pretty face, used only for what's between my legs instead of what's inside my head."

She knew the feeling. Sort of. She had become so inured to the sexual aspects of her job over the years that it didn't really bother her anymore if she had to use her looks or her body to complete a mission. In fact, she preferred it, as it was generally the path of least resistance. You screwed them one way and then you screwed them another. Simple.

Initially she had objected, she had hated it, but she'd been doing it for so long that it was almost like those feelings had never existed at all. They were just a distant memory, faded and worn down into an indefinable smudge. Sex was sex and it had long ago lost its value for her. _She_ had long ago stopped seeing herself as having any value beyond it as well.

"I had only been in Los Angeles for three months when it happened. They were putting together a joint FBI-ATF-DEA task force for some big secret op. I had no idea what and I didn't care. I cajoled, bribed, blackmailed, and flirted my way into a spot on the point team. When I got the call, I thought my life had just changed forever. I thought I was finally going to do what I dreamed of doing," Carina said wistfully.

"I was right. Just not for the reasons I thought."

"You met Chuck."

Carina chuckled lightly and looked over her shoulder briefly at the man lying spread out on the seat behind them. "I didn't meet Chuck. Chuck met me."

"I don't understand."

"It was Fate, I think," Carina said. She snorted like what she had just said was absurd and then pulled her right hand away from the steering wheel to rest on the center console. "I got my spot on the point team, just like I wanted. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that since I was young, hot, and one of the few female DEA agents with real undercover experience, that I would soon be repeating the same damn things I did in Miami," Carina said bitterly, tension tightening the skin around her eyes and her mouth.

She looked out her window at the passing landscape. Primarily low grassland, with the occasional farm or small industrial facility dotting the ground, she had never really been through this part of the interior of California. It was soothing, to see how little variation there was, and she closed her eyes.

Either Carina didn't notice what she was doing, which was pretty unlikely, or else she didn't care. This almost seemed to be a therapeutic confession for the red head.

"I was so angry and I got sloppy. Two weeks into the job and I got made by some half-assed rent-a-thug in the home of the organization's chief money launderer. They captured me and threw me in some dank pit for days."

"Karma," she muttered under her breath. Her eyes were still closed so she didn't see Carina's reaction, but she doubted it was pleasant.

"You could say that, Blondie, since it was being thrown in that hole that saved my life."

Of course it had. As if anything could ever go wrong for Miss Perfect. God, Carina was so annoying.

"I don't know how long I was down there, but one day, they tossed into my hole this nerdy looking guy I'd never seen before. He was cute, you know, but not really anything special. I thought he was just some poor idiot who was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She couldn't help it, her ears perked up and she straightened in her seat slightly at the mention of Chuck. She had become like a sponge, eager to soak in any scrap of information about Chuck that she could get.

"What happened?"

She watched in the reflection of the windshield as Carina shrugged her shoulders. "They finally went to work on me. They made Chuck watch," Carina said. "Chuck is…not like most people," she added with a sigh. "It didn't take me long to realize that even though they were beating me, they were really torturing him. At the time, it made no sense to me, but I understood why later."

"And I suppose the why is part of what you can't tell me."

"Not too bad, Walker. I guess you're not just a pretty face after all. Too bad you don't know how to use it."

She ignored yet another dig at her sexual competency and focused on what Carina was saying. She was too excited learning more about Chuck to dwell on more of Carina's insults.

"What did Chuck do," she asked with restrained excitement.

Carina changed lanes, accelerated to pass a big rig, and then looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. "What do you think he did? He's Chuck," Carina said. Her tone indicated that Chuck's choice of action should have been so obvious even a blind and deaf idiot would know.

Well, she didn't have the benefit of five years of learning Chuck's common tics, foibles, traits, quirks, and responses. That was why she was asking.

Fortunately, Carina continued on. "When they threatened to rape me," Carina said flatly, her face giving away nothing, "Chuck gave them what they wanted. He told them that he was…special. He made a trade: me for him. They let me go. They didn't need me. Once they had Chuck, nothing else mattered. And he gave himself up for a complete stranger," she said, clearly even now still in awe and surprise. "Chuck saved my life that day, Walker."

"You let them keep him?"

"I didn't even know who he _was_, Walker. I didn't know what he was giving up, how important it was. I just knew I was getting out of there."

"How long did they hold him?"

"Three days," Carina said sadly. "Chuck's never talked about it. Ever. Sometimes, I'm not even sure he remembers that it happened to him, like it was somebody else's body they had down in that hole."

"I killed every last one of those assholes," Carina said simply. "First time I ever really broke the law." She chuckled darkly, and suddenly the Explorer accelerated a little more than necessary. "It's ironic, but before I met Chuck, I actually believed in things, I actually believed in following the rules, I actually believed in something greater than myself." She shook her head and the SUV was flying down the freeway now. "Now, I just believe in Chuck. All that other stuff was just empty words."

"Why are you telling me this?" She was a little concerned at how fast they were driving. She was sure Carina could handle the car but she didn't want to draw the attention of the CHP.

"Don't really know. Maybe so you'll understand Chuck—us—better. Maybe so you'll finally see that Chuck isn't like us and you need to watch yourself. I don't know."

"I just…I don't understand," she said pathetically, like the ability to comprehend what Carina was saying was just beyond her grasp.

"Most days neither do I," Carina said with a rueful smile. "I mean, I've known Chuck for a long time and I still don't really understand what he did to me."

She laughed slightly and absently ran a hand through her tangled hair. She must look terrible, she realized. And of course Carina had to look anything but. It was a good thing Chuck was unconscious. She didn't really want him to see her like this.

"I've noticed he does seem to have that affect on people," she said.

Carina nodded and chanced a look at her. "That was the whole point, you know. I'm not sure if he explained it to you or not, but that's why we used him on you."

It felt like she had just bitten into a whole lemon and dropped a roiling pool of bile in her stomach. She didn't like thinking about that aspect of the relationship she had with Chuck. "Trust me, I got it," she said distastefully, her face dour and her eyes unwilling to meet Carina's always penetrating gaze.

Carina must have made one hell of a cop, what with the ways her eyes always made her uncomfortable. She'd been trained to withstand interrogation, to be a consummate actress, to never betray her internal thoughts, and yet she often wanted to just blurt out whatever Carina wanted to hear just so she would stop looking at her. She could only imagine how the random, untrained criminal had fared.

"It wasn't personal. He really does appear to like you, despite all my advice to the contrary."

"Since when do you care if I understand that Chuck actually likes me?"

Carina rolled her eyes and looked back to the road. "Christ, Blondie, I was just making conversation."

She was irritated now. She didn't know why Carina had to go and bring up Chuck and how he had manipulated her. She didn't know why Carina was telling her all this stuff about her past. She didn't know what was going on. She didn't understand. She was angry now; angry, irritated, and frustrated. She did not need anymore reminders about the fragileness of Chuck's connection to her.

"I don't want to make conversation," she snapped. "I don't care about your past, I don't care about your poor shattered dreams, or that you screwed up and Chuck suffered because of it, and I especially don't give a shit about your relationship with Chuck," she grounded out through her teeth. "Stop talking to me."

"Geeeze, somebody's pissy. That time of the month or was I right about it being a long time since you got laid?"

She let out a high pitched laugh and stared at Carina in rueful disbelief. "You never quit, do you?"

"You know, I'm pretty sure Bryce wouldn't say no if you asked him. That is, assuming, of course, you ever get the opportunity to ask him."

She laughed again, this time it was a little more genuine, a little more rueful. "You'd love for me to sleep with Larkin, wouldn't you?"

Carina made a very noncommittal sounding grunt.

"Because if I slept with Larkin, Chuck would probably never touch me."

She watched as Carina rolled her eyes and bit her bottom lip. "Idiot. He needs to learn to keep his mouth shut," Carina said.

"You can forget about it. I think it's about time you learned to accept the truth," she said smugly, full of sudden self-confidence and bluster.

"And what's the truth?"

"You and I both know you've already lost him to me. You should just…stop trying."

Carina didn't respond for several seconds and she thought that the bizarre conversation they had had was finally over. But then Carina opened her mouth and said, "You wanted honesty, so I'll give you some. You asked earlier why I was telling you about my past, why I started to talk about Chuck, so let me tell you why. It's because it doesn't matter."

She digested Carina's words and swallowed them down. "When this is over," she started to say but stopped and started over. "When this is all over, when Chuck is safe, and you get all the information from me that you want, you're going to try and kill me, aren't you?"

"Yes," Carina said.

"You know, if you keep saying you're going to kill me but never do, it's just a bunch of empty words," she said. "I'm not scared."

"Things with no use get discarded. It's the nature of things."

"I won't make it easy for you," she said. "I'll fight you."

Carina smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'd expect nothing less."

# # # # #

"We're here," Carina announced.

She awoke from her light doze to see that the car had indeed stopped and they were now resting in front of a busted, decrepit looking farmhouse.

The house was relatively square and not very big. The dull white paint was peeling, parts of the outside looked partially rotted away, and the two big square windows, one on either side of the barely hanging onto its hinges front door, had broken panes. This was a joke.

There was nothing but open ground for as far as the eye could see, and she could just make out the Tehachapi Mountains to the southwest when she looked out the passenger side window. The approach was good, it provided for easy surveillance, but that was about the only positive she could ascribe to the entire property.

"Where's here?" She could not help the distaste that crept into her voice. The house looked like crap. The land around the house looked like crap. Even the sky up above kind of looked like crap. This was Carina's supposed safe house?

"About 20 miles east of a little town called Meridian."

She opened the passenger door and stepped out into the bright sunlight. She opened the back passenger door and gently cradled Chuck's head. His skin was clammy, his forehead warm, and he moaned fitfully in pain. She could not help the tug on her emotions that the pitiful sight caused inside of her. She had a sudden compulsion to just wrap Chuck in her arms and never let go.

"Come on, we need to get him into the house. I've got a clean room set up for him."

"I can't believe you have a clean anything in this place. It looks like I'll get tetanus just from stepping inside."

Carina rolled her eyes and helped her gently extract Chuck from the back of the Explorer. This time Carina was holding the feet. "You of all people should know that appearances can be deceiving."

"What the hell do you mean, 'you of all people'?"

"On the outside, you're this gorgeous, perfectly proportioned, completely together, innocent looking woman," Carina said conversationally. "But on the inside, you're nothing more than an insecure, heartless, cold, murderous traitor with enough emotional and psychological issues to keep 10 shrinks busy for their whole careers."

"See? Deceiving!" Carina said with over exaggerated brightness.

"You're just lucky my hands are full or else I'd show you just how murderous I really am," she said angrily. She scowled at Carina and wished yet again that she had not become so out of shape.

"Ooooo, I'm so scared." Carina snorted and smirked very annoyingly. "We both know you couldn't take out a girl scout in your current condition."

"You're such a bitch."

"And you're way too uptight. Loosen up a little, would you? You're never going to convince Chuck to fuck you if you're this stiff."

She groaned out loud in frustration. "You are the most annoying person I've ever met." Before she could stop herself, she added, "And I know how to seduce a man, I don't need your advice. I do just fine on my own, okay?"

"If you count not getting laid since Bush's first term doing okay, then you really are beyond my help."

"Christ, it hasn't been that long," she said. Why the hell was she even justifying Carina's ribbing with a response? "Just leave me alone, all right?" she growled out in frustration.

"Can you get the door or do we need to put him down?"

"I got it," she said and somehow managed to hold Chuck with one hand while she opened the door with the other. Together they moved into the house.

"Down the hallway, second door on the right," Carina said. They moved farther into the dusty and broken down building. "We both know that Chuck's no ordinary man. If you think it's going to be easy to seduce him, then you've got another thing coming. Trust me, I know."

"Seriously, why do you care whether or not I know what I'm doing?"

Carina shrugged her shoulders and suddenly couldn't look at her. Carina actually looked like she might be blushing slightly. "I just want Chuck to be happy, that's all."

She was so shocked by the implication behind Carina's words that she actually dropped Chuck. She yelled out in dismay at what she had done, as Chuck's upper body hit the dirty wooden floor with a dull thud. He moaned loudly in pain and tried to roll to his left, away from his wounded side, but because Carina was still holding his legs and feet, he only succeeded in twisting his torso and wrenching the gunshot wound in his side. He cried out again, louder, and his eyes fluttered open.

"Oh God," he groaned, his voice slurred with pain, "what's going on? Where am I?" He kept repeating his questions, and he became increasingly panicked.

She was only staring down at Chuck in shock. She couldn't believe what she had done. She had dropped him. Dropped him! And now he was awake and undoubtedly feeling every bit of the pain his wound was causing him. What the hell was wrong with her?

She briefly looked up at Carina in horror and immediately turned away from the absolutely murderous glare on Carina's face. She was so stupid. Carina had opened up to her, was even starting to actually encourage her in her pursuit of Chuck, and now she had done this? All her goodwill was gone.

"Carina?" Chuck called out and it tore her up inside to hear the desperate, pleading, almost childlike tone in Chuck's voice. "Carina!?" He was searching around him wildly now, eyes completely unfocused.

She watched as his eyes passed over her with no recognition. She was not the person he wanted right now.

Carina quickly, but carefully, placed Chuck's lower body on the ground and rushed to console him. She pulled his head into her lap and slowly ran her hand through his hair, just like a mother might console her child.

"Carina, what's going on?" Chuck looked up at Carina with wide, pain-filled eyes. "It hurts, Carina."

"I know, Chuck, it's okay," she cooed softly. She repeated herself several times before Chuck calmed down. "You're going to be all right, Chuck. I'm going to take care of you."

Chuck nodded his head, and she watched as he relaxed. Carina's words had done the trick. He even became more lucid. "I was shot, wasn't I?"

"Yes, Chuck, do you remember what happened?"

"Vaguely," he said and suddenly his mouth tightened. "Just…in a lotta pain right now, Carina."

"I know, I'm sorry, I dropped you," Carina said contritely.

"You dropped me?" Chuck asked confused. "Why did you do that? Did I forget to stay in the car again? You know it's never safe in the car, Carina," he said with a dopey smile.

Carina smiled back and brushed some hair off his forehead. "I know and yes, you are in big trouble for not listening to me."

Chuck sighed loudly. "Aw come on! I've been shot! Isn't that punishment enough?"

"Chuck, you almost died. You still could die," Carina bit out harshly, worriedly. "There is no punishment in the world that could make up for that."

Chuck looked very doubtful of Carina's words, but he didn't say anything. He started to breathe a little more harshly, but he barely seemed to notice. Instead, he started to turn his head this way and that, looking for something. "Hey, where's Sarah?" He abruptly looked up at Carina. "You didn't do anything to her, did you?"

Carina rolled her eyes and said, "You're hopeless, you know that?" She shook her head and smiled softly at Chuck. "And no, I didn't do anything to her although sometimes it's hard to repress the urge to punch her in the face." Carina looked right at her then, eyes ice cold.

It's not like she needed Carina's icy glare to remind her of how badly she had screwed up. Or of how wracked with guilt she was every time Chuck let out a little moan of pain or struggled to take in a breath. It wasn't like she needed those stormy gray eyes piercing into her with such hate to feel the hate she already felt for herself. She was a disaster of a human being. She was a crappy agent and an even worse protector. She had promised herself that she would help Chuck, and yet she dropped him to the floor.

What she couldn't figure out was why Carina had lied to Chuck for her.

"Oh, well, I can understand that. She's too damn stubborn," Chuck said.

She stared at Chuck in disbelief. The triumphant smirk on Carina's face only made what Chuck said worse. _She_ was stubborn!? "I am not stubborn!"

She watched as Chuck's eyes slowly tracked over to look at her. "Oh hey," Chuck said. He smiled at her slightly. "You look nice, although I'm not sure red is really your color."

Red? She wasn't wearing red… She looked down at her clothes and noticed that they were stained with Chuck's blood. She paled and had to swallow repeatedly to stop herself from vomiting. "That's not funny," she croaked, breathing through her nose.

Chuck wasn't even looking at her anymore. "Do you think I could get off this floor? I think I can feel something crawling inside my pants and I'm pretty sure I'm getting splinters in my ass."

"Of course, Chuck," Carina said.

"Good, because I'm going to pass out again," Chuck said and his eyes rolled back into his head and he went still.

Both she and Carina sighed in exasperation and she asked, "Isn't that really annoying?"

Carina nodded her head enthusiastically. "God, yes." The two of them picked up Chuck again and started to carry him onto the clean room. "By the way, Blondie, hurt him again and I'll break your fucking hands."

She studied Carina's face and knew that for once, Carina was being completely serious. There were no empty words there.

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**Next Chapter:** _Confessions, Part Two_ - Yes, my friends, there will finally be Charah. I know you've all been waiting impatiently for there to be some interaction between them, so you will get it. Also Sarah plays doctor. Oh, and the real doctor finally arrives. Sort of.


	14. Confessions, Part Two

**Author's Note: **The Charah has finally arrived. Rejoice and be glad in it. Savor it, folks, as it'll probably be the only significant dose you'll get for the next few chapters. I know, that sucks, but I must go where the plot tells me to go. And I promised more than just Charah at the end of the first arc, and let it never be said that I don't fulfill my promises. And if it is said, make sure I don't hear about it. This is not to say that there won't be any, there will, just probably not a whole section devoted to it as it is here.

Much credit for the Charah scene in this chapter must go to **malamoo**, who gave me advice, encouraged me, and most importantly, pointed out to me that what I had initially wrote for this scene was just too damn fluffy. If you like the Charah, thank her, as it would have sucked without her input. If you don't like it (and I wouldn't blame you as I think it still kinda sucks despite all moo did to try and save it), then blame me, as I came up with it. And as usual, a big thanks to **Wepdiggy** for his assistance, who gave me a lot of good ideas for this chapter, and no, probably not the stuff you're thinking of.

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When Carina had said she had a clean room already setup, she hadn't been kidding.

The entire doorframe of the clean room had been replaced with new wood as well as a brand new, heavy oak door. The jamb had been raised several inches, probably to make it harder for all the dust, debris, and bugs that occupied the rest of the house to migrate into the clean room. Once the door had been opened, a rush of cool air washed over both of them and then they stepped up and into the room.

They carefully placed Chuck's newly unconscious body on a gurney waiting just inside the room by the door. He let out a barely audible moan as his body made contact with the padded gurney and it had felt like somebody sticking her with a needle repeatedly along her stomach at the sound. She was the cause of his distress, of his pain. In fact, she could trace the trail of blame for his gunshot wound all the way back to him helping her escape from her cell. No matter which way she looked at it, she knew she was at fault. She still couldn't believe that she had been careless enough to drop him. As if she needed that guilt atop everything else. What if his wound started bleeding again because of it?

Carina then flipped a switch to turn on the halogen lamps emplaced on the ceiling, and she'd had to close her eyes from the offending glare. The room she stood in was such a startling white that the walls seemed to glow. She had become too accustomed to dim lighting and darkness over the weeks and the light cascading down from above physically hurt. Somebody had sanded the walls down to a smooth finish and then whitewashed everything. Even the floor had been sanded, in some places patched, and cleaned. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic, paint, and lemon.

In the middle of the whitewashed room was a large raised platform surrounded by a cube of thick frosted plastic. Inside the cube was a hospital bed, a bank of machines, an IV stand, and a small swivel stool. Somebody had done their best to create a clean, hopefully bacteria-free, operating space.

There was a decided artificial air about the room and she realized that Carina must have gone to great trouble to have something like this setup.

She placed her hands on her hips to take in some gulps of air and then said, "I take it all back; this place is amazing."

Carina chuckled slightly and wiped a hand across her forehead to displace a few beads of sweat that had formed there. "Thank you." Carina briefly looked down at Chuck and then back up at her. "It wasn't easy to arrange, believe me, but I learned a long time ago to always be prepared." Carina cracked her back slightly as she stretched.

"Are all your safe houses like this?"

"No, only this one," Carina said. She shook her head and frowned slightly. "The CIA 'knows' about the others. This one is completely off the books."

"How did you setup something like this without anybody knowing?" she asked in slight wonder. Something like this would have cost money and there was no way that Carina's superiors wouldn't have noticed Carina dumping a large amount of cash.

"Not easily." Carina shut the door behind them and then grabbed the head of the gurney and started to pull it farther into the room. "Remember the Alejandro brothers?" Carina asked.

How could she forget? She nodded her head in affirmation.

The gurney came to rest just outside the cube. Carina leaned against it, the tips of her fingers idly brushing back and forth along Chuck's hand. The gesture caused a tightening in her gut, and she bit down on her bottom lip to stop herself from yelling at Carina to stop touching Chuck. "Well, in a past life they were Chihuahuan drug smugglers. We cut a deal. Now they do stuff for me when I need it done." Carina shrugged her shoulders and colored slightly.

She gaped at Carina in disbelief. "And you _trust_ them?"

"I trust Chuck and nobody else," Carina snapped. Carina took a deep breath, composed herself, and then looked at her. "But when you work in the DEA for long enough, you get a sense of these kinds of people. I trust them as much as I need to."

She could understand that much, at least. She herself had put her life in the hands of people with less than stellar character, but that was as much a function of Fulcrum as it was anything else. Still, trusting yourself to drug runners was one thing, but trusting Chuck's life as well was another. Carina had been so careful up to this point to take every precaution imaginable to keep Chuck safe and off the radar and now she was going to entrust his life—their lives—to a couple of brothers who probably wouldn't mind selling them all out for a kilo of coke or a promise to look the other way from the government. This was not smart at all.

"But, Carina –" she started to say but was cut off.

"Shut up," Carina said, but there was little bite in her words. It was more a reflexive response than anything, and it was clear that Carina had moved onto another train of thought. Carina carefully looked her body up and down with an appraising arched eyebrow. Her eyes danced with mirth and something almost akin to mischief. "Well…you have a bigger chest than me, but you've lost enough weight that I think my clothes should fit you just fine. Come on," Carina said and grabbed her arm. Carina began dragging her out of the room.

"Wait, what?" She said confused. She dug in her heels to slow Carina down, but she was quickly learning that Carina was like a tsunami: once she got going, there was no stopping her until she reached her destination.

"You look like shit, Blondie," Carina said bluntly. "You're dirty and covered in blood. You've been wearing the same clothes for God knows how long. You can't go into the operating room like that; it would completely defeat the purpose." Carina pushed the door to the clean room open and dragged her back out into the broken down hallway. "I've got a shower here you can use and some clothes you can wear." Carina paused, but kept leading her down the hallway toward a room at the end. "In fact, I need a shower too. Wanna wash my back for me?"

She made a kind of strangled gasp as the horrifying thought of her and Carina in the shower together assaulted her mind. "Are you out of your mind?" She could feel her whole body and especially her face flush a deep red, her body lockup, and her mind go blank. That was the last thing she had ever expected Carina to ask her, but considering how the red head loved getting under her skin, she should have seen it coming.

Carina laughed loudly, her voice echoing throughout the house. "Oh the look on your face; I wish I had a camera so I could show Chuck." Carina's eyes were incredibly wide and relaxed; she could not remember ever seeing Carina's stormy gray eyes ever so pleased and it annoyed the crap out of her. "Relax, Blondie, you're not really my type."

Carina pushed her into the old but surprisingly clean bathroom.

"That's not…you're such a bitch…why the hell not?"

Carina laughed again and then started the shower. "Come on, strip and get started. This place doesn't exactly come with a water heater and I don't want you wasting whatever tepid water there is or else I really will join you. I'll have a towel and some clothes waiting for you when you finish." Carina looked her over in distaste. "And these clothes need to be burned."

Carina then crossed her arms in front of her chest and just stood there. Carina smirked at her in that way she hated so much, and she stared back blankly, wondering why Carina hadn't left yet or at least turned around. "Well, I'm waiting, Walker," Carina said impatiently. When she still hadn't moved, Carina rolled her eyes and added, "Christ, Blondie, it's not like I haven't seen it all already."

It clicked then what Carina was waiting for and she sighed. It was obvious the red head was not going to leave the bathroom until she had stripped off her clothes. "I hate you," she said, but there was no venom in her words, just exhaustion. If this was how Carina wanted to play things, then fine. She wasn't ashamed of her body, even if she had lost a little more muscle mass and definition than she was used to. She wasn't particularly fond of the thought that, as usual, she was being considered for little more than her physical appearance, but if Carina got her rocks off watching her get naked, then oh well, there was nothing she could do. Honestly, the thought of a shower at this point sounded positively exhilarating to her exhausted and aching body. And fresh clothes, even if they were Carina's, were almost as good. She was not going to let Carina acting like a peeping Tom stop her from getting those things.

Plus, she couldn't deny, the thought of actually looking like a human being the next time Chuck woke up instead of the walking disaster she was now, was probably the most appealing thing of all. She would enjoy further pulling Chuck under her control while wearing Carina's clothes. There was a kind of poetic justice there that really amused her.

She pulled her shirt over her head and Carina watched with exaggerated interest as she exposed her breasts and torso to the stale, musty air. She tossed the bloody shirt to the ground in front of Carina's feet. With a defiant glare, she quickly pulled Chuck's sweats down past her hips and kicked those to join the shirt as well. "Happy now," she asked through gritted teeth.

The whole experience was humiliating, which was undoubtedly why Carina was making her do it. It was a power play, letting her know, as if she wasn't already painfully aware, who was in charge. As if she hadn't already gone through the whole experience dozens of times back in the facility, as guards watched her strip and get dressed before and after every shower to make sure she wasn't hiding something dangerous.

All her life she had been looked at like Carina was looking at her now, and despite everything, despite all the missions where she had used that dismissal of her as nothing more than a pair of breasts, or long legs, or a pretty face, to her advantage, she couldn't help the feeling of self-loathing and disgust that overcame her now. This was what her life was. This was all she was, a façade to be admired and nothing more.

Carina smirked and very gingerly gathered her discarded clothes in her hands. Carina held the clothes as far away from her body as she could, like if they touched the rest of her, she'd become infected or tainted by them. "Now I really wish I had a camera. Chuck could probably use a pick-me-up when he gets better," Carina said with a snicker.

She felt her body warm at the thought of Chuck looking at a picture of her naked form, and then shook her head, to make the thought go away. She did not need to be thinking about that now.

Carina smirked at her one last time and then left the bathroom with a big, perversely amused grin on her face.

She extended her middle finger to Carina's retreating back and then turned to the shower and sighed in relief.

Finally she could wash nearly two days worth of grime, dirt, blood, sweat, and death off her skin. She stepped into the barely tepid water and nearly shrieked in response. Carina was right about the water temperature. But at least she would be clean.

She grabbed a bar of soap and started to scrub.

# # # # #

There had been no shower curtain when she had been in the shower, so it had only partially surprised her when Carina had appeared in the bathroom two-thirds of the way through her shower. Carina had stood there staring, tapping her foot impatiently, which only made her take longer, even if she was starting to freeze. The last thing she was going to do was give Carina the satisfaction of getting what she wanted.

When she had finally finished and turned off the water, Carina had let out a mocking wolf-whistle at her naked, but gloriously clean, body glistening and shivering under the bathroom's single light. Carina had then tossed her a towel after putting a stack of clothes on the sink, and then started to strip herself.

Clearly, Carina didn't believe in personal space or modesty. Truthfully, she had lost most of her shyness and modesty years ago herself, but she still respected a person's personal space. But then, from what Carina had told her of her past, she had spent most of her career in varying states of undress, all for the perusal and enjoyment of near total strangers. Not that her career had followed all that different a trajectory, but at least she hadn't been used primarily for seduction missions only, and over the last few years with Fulcrum, she had been used in much more important and challenging roles than that. It probably didn't even register in Carina's mind anymore that what she was doing was fairly inappropriate. She could only imagine how Chuck, a man that seemed to blush like a tomato at the barest hint of impropriety or undress, handled being around a woman like Carina.

Fortunately, gone was the playful, leering, suggestive Carina of before, and in her place was a serious, all-business professional. After the whistle, Carina had not even looked at her—which was an immense relief—only telling her to check on Chuck once she finished drying herself off and got dressed. Right before Carina stepped under the now cold stream of water from the shower, Carina had told her that the doctor would be arriving within the hour and that she should ready Chuck for surgery because as soon as she finished her own shower, she was going to be too busy preparing the house for visitors to assist her.

She hadn't exactly been sure what Carina intended her to do. Yes, she had training in field medicine, but that didn't make her a qualified nurse, let alone a doctor. She knew enough to hook up Chuck to the heart monitor, some of the other machines, and start a fresh saline, antibiotic, and morphine drip.

But that was it and it had taken her only a few minutes.

Idly, she pulled at her top's collar. Carina had been mostly accurate about her clothes fitting, but not completely so. Her shoulders were broader, her breasts larger, and while they had similar sized waists, her hips were definitely wider than Carina's. Fortunately they were more or less the same height, so while the slim jeans she had on were tight, they were not as annoying unfamiliar as the sky blue blouse Carina had given her.

Considering the red head's personality, it was understandable why Carina insisted on wearing such formfitting clothes, but to her, it felt like she was wearing a second skin, and she found herself unconsciously adjusting her top frequently so that she had more room. She sighed and daydreamed about raiding her wardrobe back at her hotel room. She missed being able to wear her own clothes.

Reluctantly, she forced herself to focus on Chuck and put thoughts of going back to her old life out of her head. This was her life now. _He_ was her life now. She figured she had better clean his wound and give him a fresh bandage. She didn't like thinking about Chuck being shot, and as she gently unwrapped the tape holding his bandage in place, the physical reminder stared her right in the face. The sight of his gunshot wound made her feel…strange. She had seen similar sights countless times, had even been shot herself before, but looking at Chuck, it evoked a series of very strange emotions that she had never really felt before.

And they were emotions that she didn't fully understand. Revulsion, pain, fear, was always constant, and she could push those aside. There was guilt, yes, but she was very familiar with guilt. Remorse and shame were also emotions she had become intimately familiar with over the years. But this weird pulling on her heart whenever she looked at Chuck, especially when she looked at him in his current vulnerable state, was wholly strange and uncommon.

Combined with a near irrational need to protect him and keep him safe from harm at all cost, she felt like she was being torn in a million different directions. She wanted to climb up on the bed and wrap herself around his body, just so she could see and hear for herself that he was still breathing and his heart was still beating. At the same time, she wanted to run and hide, the guilt pressing in all around her. She wanted to stick her head in a corner and vomit, or wrap her arms around her knees and rock back and forth, denying to herself that anything was real. She wanted to kill the man responsible for putting Chuck in his condition, and she wanted to kill Carina for taking that opportunity away from her.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she had started to talk. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She knew she'd never be doing this if Chuck was awake, but she just had this overwhelming desire to give voice to her thoughts in some way. Maybe if she said them out loud, she'd start to understand them.

She gently dabbed his side with an antiseptic wipe and winced in sympathy as the broken skin around the wound puckered and reddened in response. She got a fresh bandage and carefully placed it over the wound. "I'm really sorry, Chuck" she repeated again. Slowly, she taped the new bandage back into place. "I haven't said that to somebody and actually mean it in as long as I can remember."

She brushed some hair off his forehead. "So of course it had to be you I said it to." She traced the edge of his face and frowned as her finger gently probed his injured nose. She wished she could find the man who had done that to him and return the favor.

"I really don't get what you see in me. I have no idea what I'm doing, and you…well, you always seem to know exactly what you're doing," she said and absently began running a gentle hand up and down Chuck's chest as she stared at the wall in front of her. "Is it because you think I'm attractive? It wouldn't surprise me if that was why, but I'm not, Chuck. I'm not beautiful."

She started in muted surprise at feeling the slightly clammy skin of his naked chest. She laughed awkwardly and shook her head. She couldn't believe it had taken her this long to realize he was naked from the waist up. When had she removed his shirt? She had gone through the motions of stripping him from his clothes, but couldn't even remember doing it.

A trill of alarm shot through her. It was possible she was in shock and was just now starting to realize it. She took a couple long, steady breaths and did her best to calm herself and relax. She was not suffering from shock. That would just be far too inconvenient at a time like this. She was fine.

She went back to stroking his chest, careful to avoid his injured side.

"You know that I'm a killer, right? That by all rights, I should grab the pillow you're sleeping on and smother you with it." She snorted in contempt of her own thoughts.

"But I don't. I _can't_. And it freaking pisses me off."

She poked him in the chest in frustration and he shifted slightly but didn't wake up. When he settled again, she resumed talking. "I'm Fulcrum, Chuck, and I know you're special. I don't know how exactly, but I'm starting to get an idea, and I know if I brought you in, I would be set for life." She sighed and soothed the slightly pink skin where she had poked him with the tips of her fingers. "So I'd really like to know why the only thing I can think about is how to keep you safe and _away_ from Fulcrum."

She scooted closer on the little swivel stool until she could rest her elbow on the bed and lean closer to Chuck. She lowered her voice back to a whisper and said, "You've changed me, and to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I like it. Life was so much simpler before you. Follow orders, kill anybody in my way, complete the mission, rinse and repeat. Simple.

"Why couldn't you have been some asshole like John Casey? At least then I wouldn't be feeling this way." She pushed a few still wet strands of hair behind her ears and groaned. "I hate you."

She grabbed his hand very carefully and threaded her fingers with his. "Just don't die on me, okay? You can't come into my life, screw me all up, and then leave. I already had one man do that to me in my life, I'd really like for you not to be the second.

"So please just…live. I would really appreciate the opportunity to scare you away," she said and then laughed bitterly at just how true her words were. "I promise that you won't regret saving my life. I promise that I'll be thankful for the second chance you've given me," she said quietly. "Live, Chuck, and I promise I'll be grateful."

She shut her eyes then and relaxed, feeling a little lighter now that she had spoken her mind, letting her mind wander, letting herself be lulled into a very light doze by the rhythmic, constant beeping of the heart monitor.

She didn't know how long she sat there resting half atop Chuck's bed, but it couldn't have been very long because she heard a low, throaty voice ask, "How grateful?"

Her head shot up in wide-eyed surprise, and she nearly fell off the stool in her surprise as she jerked back away from the bed. Chuck was awake! She hurriedly pushed herself back to the bed and grabbed Chuck's hand in a bone-crushing grip.

"Chuck, you're awake," she said amazed. Her eyes automatically fixated on his face, looking for any sign that indicated she hadn't imagined Chuck speaking. His eyes fluttered open and she had never thought they looked more beautiful than they did right at that moment.

"Looks like it," Chuck said weakly and gave her a tired, droopy smile.

As excited and happy she was that Chuck was again awake, and even better, not automatically calling for Carina, realization hit and she instantly worried. "Wait, Chuck, you're not supposed to be awake. You must be in so much pain…" She squeezed Chuck's hand hard, more to anchor herself to the situation than to reassure him. How the hell was he awake? She had pumped him with enough painkillers and sedatives that he should still be unconscious. At least she thought she had. There was no way she had screwed that up too.

Chuck tightened his eyes and nodded very stiffly. But he still managed to keep smiling at her, even if the smile didn't completely reach his unfocused eyes. "Not my fault. A very beautiful woman was talking to me and I guess my body felt compelled to talk back," he said with a slight slur.

She blushed and immediately looked down and away, her hair obscuring part of her face. She didn't want him to see her blush, but she knew it was a futile gesture as she felt her whole body flush. She blushed so completely she was pretty sure her toes were red. God, the things he said to her… They were words she had heard hundreds of times in her life, but never had they been said with such easy sincerity. From any other man, she would think them simply a way of getting in her pants, but with Chuck, she knew he said them just to say them. His eyes gave him away every time.

"You think I'm beautiful?" She asked timidly, shyly, completely disbelievingly.

"Like the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Chuck said in his slurred, hesitant drawl. It was obvious his brain was having difficulty processing words through the drug induced haze surrounding his mind.

"That's just the morphine talking, Chuck," she awkwardly teased, hoping that she could push his comments in another direction. She was starting to get uncomfortable as the situation was moving from superficial banter to something more real. She was not at all used to sincere compliments and Chuck's earnest belief that what he was telling her was true made it difficult to look at his eyes.

"So what you're saying is that I'm high on you? I like that thought."

She rolled her eyes at the incredibly corny line but lifted her head and smiled at him anyway. She couldn't help it. As much as she wanted him to stop being so…him, she couldn't deny the burning hot, fluttery feeling growing inside of her with every one of his comments.

She was just so happy that he was actually awake. This was the second time he had awakened since being shot, which could only be a good sign. It meant he was probably going to be okay. Only, now that he was awake, she really wanted him to go back to sleep. She didn't want Chuck to be in so much pain. Even now, she could see in his eyes how hard it was for him to hide from her how he must be feeling. And that was with the painkillers running through his system.

"Chuck, you need to go back to sleep," she said. She reluctantly let go of his hand and spun around on the stool to search for a sedative in the medical cabinet to her right. "Let me just get something to help you sleep, okay?"

She grabbed a syringe of the right drug and spun back around to face Chuck, but before she could inject the drug into his IV, his hand shot out and stilled her arm. "Wait, you never answered my question."

"What question?"

"I wanted to know just how grateful you would be if I lived," he said with a slight grin. The grip on her arm slackened and his hand quickly fell back limply to rest on the bed. He had accomplished his goal and didn't need to strain himself anymore.

"Like are we talking handshake grateful? Pat on the back and a hearty 'Welcome back, Chuck' grateful? Hug grateful? Kiss grateful?" He waggled his eyebrows at that and she just stopped herself from giggling in relief and amusement at the sight. "I only ask because I'd like to determine if living is even worth it for me."

She tried to look like she was thinking seriously on Chuck's question, but she couldn't stop smiling. She grabbed Chuck's hand again and threaded her fingers with his. She squeezed it gently and smirked down at him. "I promise you, Chuck Bartowski, that if you live and we get through this, you will not regret it. I will make you a very happy man."

"Oh?" he asked with that same unfocused grin he'd had since he woke up.

"Yes. _Very_ happy. Trust me."

She looked steadily into his eyes and tried to convey the sincerity of her offer. He deserved a lot more than anything she could offer, but that didn't mean she wasn't willing to give him what she could, the one thing she knew any man would want.

Why he would even bother with her was a topic of constant consideration in the back of her mind. He should be with a woman that could look him in the eye and tell him the truth. He should be with a woman that knew how to express herself, that didn't have blood on her hands, and could actually care for him as much as he cared for her. She was none of those things, didn't even think she was capable of those things. She could only offer him sex. And she was happy to do that if it meant he stayed in her life just a little bit longer, was happy to do it if meant he might make her feel something she hadn't felt in a very long time, but she doubted that he would stay for very long the more he got to know her. And besides, it was all she really knew how to give or was comfortable giving. Once he tired of her, once he got what he wanted…

"Those are big words, Agent Walker," he said. He carefully licked his lips to moisten them and she wished she had some water for him. As soon as she got him back to sleep, she'd go in search of some. "I don't know if I really believe you."

She tried to laugh lightly but she was sure some of her dark thoughts had leaked into her voice. Fortunately, Chuck didn't seem to notice and she leaned a little closer to Chuck's face. She made herself smile enticingly; with Chuck, it wasn't that hard. "Believe me, Chuck, this is one of the few things I know I actually do well." She had years of experience, after all, she thought with no small amount of regret and bitterness.

His eyes briefly focused on her and it almost took her breath away at the intensity there. "Just what exactly do you mean?"

"Contrary to what Carina thinks, I know how to handle myself around the bedroom. I'll make you forget your own name," she said with a cocky grin that she didn't really feel.

Chuck's eyes unfocused and drooped half-closed and his smile faded away. "Oh, so that's what you meant."

She asked confused, "Yes. Wait, what did you think I meant?"

Chuck partially shook his head and gave her a faint smile. "Nothing."

She tried to read his expression, tried to read his eyes, but there was still so much about him that she didn't know. She would need months to learn all his quirks and she was afraid she'd blown her only chance by saying something wrong.

Chuck's body sagged further into the mattress, all his energy spent. It seemed the drugs were finally, blessedly, taking their toll.

Then, as if catching a second wind, his eyes brightened and the faint smile grew into a devious grin.

"Prove it," he said.

She blinked; unsure she was still speaking to the same suddenly morose Chuck from 30 seconds ago. "Prove what?"

"I think, for me to even consider living long enough to give you a chance to keep your promise, I'm going to need some kind of proof that you can actually back up your big talk."

She couldn't believe it. "Oh you want proof, do you?"

He nodded his head. He tried to look solemn and unimpressed, but he was completely unconvincing. As usual, his eyes gave him away.

She smirked at him before standing up slightly so that she could lean over the bed. She pressed her lips to his gently, with barely any pressure, and held them there for only a few seconds, before she pulled away. "How was that?" she asked with a shy grin.

Chuck licked his lips again, although for an entirely different reason than before, and he closed his eyes. "Not bad," he said.

"Not bad? I thought it was nice," she said with a pout.

She watched him try to maintain a straight face, his eyes open again and dancing in poorly hidden mirth, but the corners of his mouth kept forming into a smile. "Eh…I've had better."

She giggled in disbelief and slapped his arm none too gently. "Hey!" she yelled in mock outrage. "Just be grateful you're already hurt because otherwise I'd make you pay for that."

"Again, big words that I don't think you can back up."

"You know what? I was going to kiss you again, but if this is how you're going to act, you can forget it." She glared at him but couldn't put much heat into it. She was too happy that he was awake and talking to her for her to care about him teasing her. Mostly. She still felt a little uncomfortable with the easy camaraderie that she had developed with him. She had never had that with anyone else in her life. It almost felt unnatural in its normalness.

Chuck abruptly became very serious, his face going blank. "Sarah, I have a confession to make."

"Hmmm?"

"I lied to you back in the facility," he said. He shut his eyes and she heard his breathing become labored. "I mean, back in your cell before we left."

"You did?" she asked tightly. A sudden icy pit formed in her stomach. Here it was, time for the other shoe to drop. She knew that he was too good to be true.

Chuck sighed raggedly and winced in pain. She wanted to put him under but she didn't. She needed to know what he was going to say. "Yeah. I told you that I wanted you to come with me because I wanted your help to destroy Fulcrum, and because I wanted to help you." He was staring at her now, his eyes pinning her to her stool. She didn't think she could move away even if she wanted to. "The truth is, I don't give a shit about Fulcrum or even wanting to help you get better. Well, I do, I really do want to help you become a better person, but my real reason was so much more selfish than that. I just didn't want that to be the last time I ever saw you again. I didn't want to not have you in my life anymore. I wanted you to work with me because it meant I would get to see you every day. I just thought you should know, since we are supposed to be honest with each other now."

Chuck shut his eyes then and started to breathe evenly and deep, like he was asleep.

She didn't know what to say. How did somebody respond to something like that? She should be upset. Not because of his reasons, but because he had lied to her. Again. Yet she wasn't. She couldn't. He had basically told her what she had wanted to hear from him since he stepped inside her cell and told her she would be working with Bryce Larkin. It was a confirmation that she really wasn't alone in having these strange feelings. She wasn't alone in wanting to spend all her time with him, even if she didn't quite know what that meant. That was, assuming, he was finally telling her the truth this time.

She was willing to believe he was. She was sure that he had only told her that because…because maybe he thought he was on death's door. Or maybe the drugs had loosened his tongue enough to let his real feelings through. Either way, he had said it and she believed him.

She quietly stood up and leaned over him again. She kissed him softly and to her surprise, he kissed back. She had thought he was asleep. Before she even realized what she was doing, she pressed her lips a little more firmly against his, putting more of her body onto the bed. One of Chuck's hands pressed down gently on her head and she deepened the kiss, slowly running her tongue along Chuck's bottom lip before slipping it tentatively inside his mouth.

As his tongue slid along hers and his hand ran through her hair and she found herself moving her whole body onto the bed along with him, she lost perspective. Somewhere in the back of her mind, there was a voice screaming out that this was a really bad idea. Not just because Chuck still had a bullet stuck inside of him and was very weak, but also because she really shouldn't be making out with him while her mind was in such a vulnerable place. But that didn't stop her, and she only increased the amount of passion she put into the kiss. The things she felt when she kissed him…she never wanted them to end.

"What the fuck is going on here!?"

She practically exploded off the bed, wrenching her mouth away from Chuck's with a jerk, and barely managed to land on her feet, several feet away from Chuck's bed.

Carina was standing just outside the cube, a furious expression on her face.

She felt like she had just gotten caught making out with her boyfriend by her mother. If she had ever had a mother. Or a boyfriend.

She could feel how swollen her lips were and she hesitantly ran her tongue over them. God, that had been a hell of a kiss. She surreptitiously looked at Chuck to see if he was as embarrassed and turned on as she was, but his eyes were closed, there was a slight smile on his face, and—she was fairly certain this time—appeared actually asleep. She smiled ruefully at the sight and focused her attention back on the still pissed off red head.

"I give you one simple job…" Carina muttered and jerked her head, like Carina was motioning for her to come closer.

She left the cube and stood right in front of Carina, making sure to stay on guard. She had no idea how Carina might react to seeing her kiss Chuck. The unpredictable woman was as likely to attack her as give her a high-five. "Look, Carina, I'm sorry about that, but –"

"Save it, Blondie, not interested in your lame ass excuses." Carina peered closely at Chuck, then the monitors next to him, and then she shook her head in bemusement. "Jesus, you literally kissed him unconscious. I'd be impressed if you weren't so incredibly stupid." Carina's angry gaze settled back on her. "What were you trying to do, give him a heart attack?"

She started to open her mouth to argue, but Carina just shook her head. "You and I are going to have a talk about this later, but right now we have company."

# # # # #

They watched the lone car steadily move closer down the long country road.

Carina turned to her and reached into the waistband of her pants. She pulled out a pistol—it was the Sig P228 from Carina's burn bag—and gave it to her. Then Carina handed her a set of car keys.

"If anything happens, you do what you have to do, but you grab Chuck and you run."

Carina locked eyes with her and the faith in Carina's startling gray eyes, the faith in her to protect Chuck, made her look away. She didn't know why Carina thought she was so deserving of that faith, but it was clear she did.

Carina looked at her for a few seconds longer, but she soon turned on her heel and walked toward the approaching car.

Chuck would now be all right.

The doctor had arrived.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _Operation_ - Has anyone else noticed that the chapter titles haven't been all that creative so far this arc? Hmmm... Anyway, chapter is self explanatory. But who is the doctor? Dun dun dun!

I guess this means Chuck lives?


	15. Operation

**Author's Note:** Thank you to those who reviewed! It seems, from the response I got to the last chapter, Charah is not as popular in this story as I thought. Oh well, I'm going to write it anyway. But I think knowing that it's not essential has taken a lot of the pressure off of me when I write it in the future.

This was a seriously hard chapter to write, primarily because, like the first chapter in this arc, it's a transitional chapter. But it's also one of the most important, for reasons that will probably become clearer in the future. This chapter is like a pivot...or a fulcrum? Zing!

As usual, thanks go out to **Wepdiggy** and **malamoo** for their assistance in helping me, especially moo, who gave me some excellent notes. You guys are invaluable for my thought process. Thanks guys.

Oh, and I am not a Spanish speaker, so I apologize in advance if I got anything wrong. I tried my best to get it right, but well...you'll see.

* * *

The black Suburban came to a sudden halt, dirt spraying far into the air as the SUV's tires tore up the country road. Carina stood in front of the stopped truck, seemingly unfazed by the dirt and dust. She had her hands on her hips and was doing her best to look put out.

Sarah squeezed the P228 in her hand and sighed. Like back in the CIA facility, it felt familiar resting in her palm. It felt like a missing hand had been reattached. How twisted was her life that she didn't feel normal if there wasn't a gun in her hand? At least it wasn't a knife. That would bring about a feeling of comfort and familiarity that she was hesitant to embrace again.

A man climbed out of the car, removing a pair of sunglasses and placing them atop his head. He was tall, with short-cropped dark brown hair, and a dark complexion. There was a smile on his face, but even from as far away as she was, she could see the tension in the way he moved.

Carina took a step forward and looked about to speak, but the man cut her off. He held up his hands in a placating gesture and said something in Spanish she couldn't hear. Hesitantly, she moved closer. She didn't want to get too close; Carina had asked her to stay back for a reason. She was the rear guard, the one who had to clean up any mess if trouble brewed. But she wouldn't know how to act if she couldn't hear what was going on.

"What do you mean, you can explain?" Carina demanded, a scowl already forming on her pretty face. "What exactly do you need to explain?"

The man, who she could only assume was Rodrigo—Carina had failed to share the other brothers' names—placed a hand on the driver's door handle like he was on the verge of yanking the door open and diving inside so he could avoid Carina's building wrath. "I tried to get everything you wanted, but as you can see, that wasn't possible," the man said in slightly accented English. Rodrigo then knocked on his window twice.

One of the passenger doors opened and out stepped a tall, blond haired man. He was wearing jeans and a well-fitting light blue sweater, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was a very handsome man with pale blue eyes, and his face had an innocent, carefree air to it that automatically put you at ease.

Sarah liked him at first sight.

Carina, however, did not seem to share her sentiments.

"What the hell is he doing here!?" Carina yelled and pointed at the blond angrily.

"Carina…" the man started to say, but Carina wasn't paying any attention to him. All her attention was on Rodrigo and once he realized that, the blond didn't bother to complete his sentence.

Rodrigo shrugged his shoulders and gave Carina a sheepish smile. "That's what I wanted to explain."

Carina looked about three seconds away from either pulling her hair out or killing Rodrigo with her bare hands. She paced up and down in a short arc, muttering to herself and completely ignoring the rest of them.

Sarah watched as the blond first looked at Rodrigo, then Carina, and finally her. He smiled slightly, exposing startling white teeth, and started walking toward her with confidence. She was impressed by his seemingly unflappable demeanor, and the easy way he seemed to be handling what had to be a very unusual experience, only further increased her opinion of him.

He looked nothing like the doctors she had known in her life. In fact, he seemed like he'd be more at home in an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue than in a pair of scrubs. The juxtaposition was kind of jarring, but it was hard to tear her eyes away from the man.

Then again who was she to judge? As Carina had so poignantly pointed out earlier, she might have the veneer of Botticelli's _Venus_, but on the inside, she was nothing more than a vision of Munch's screamer. A nightmare and a mess.

The man held an overstuffed duffel with the EMS Star of Life imprinted on the side of the bag, and when he stopped in front of her, he did not hesitate in offering her his hand.

"Hi, I'm Devon." He paused, perhaps waiting for some kind of response from her, perhaps a flash of recognition, and when she said nothing, he offered more, "Devon Woodcomb."

He looked at her with curious eyes and she shifted uncomfortably in her place. In her past experience, when good looking men stared at her, their thoughts typically consisted of only one thing.

"Hello," she said cautiously. She kept one eye on the blond next to her and the other on the growing argument between Carina and Rodrigo. Her curiosity was gnawing at her to find out more about this Devon Woodcomb and his connection, if any, to Chuck. But Carina was her partner, at least right now, and trusted her to watch her back. She would not let Carina down because doing so would mean letting Chuck down, and that was unacceptable.

"Maybe you can tell me what's going on?" Devon asked.

She mumbled something unintelligible in response and watched in fascination as Carina stopped her pacing and got right in Rodrigo's face.

Even though she was several feet away, she had no problem hearing what Carina yelled. "You had one simple job. One! After all the shit I had to go through to get your ass out of Federale custody, this is the kind of bullshit you repay me with?"

Rodrigo glared at Carina and his jaw clenched. This was probably not the first time that he and Carina had had a confrontation like this. "I had no choice, cielito."

Sarah was shocked to see Carina's face break out into a faint blush, but the woman's anger soon overrode it, and the blush was replaced by a furious glare. "No choice? No choice!?" Carina looked ready to physically assault the man. "He's a God damn cardiothoracic surgeon. I need a _trauma_ surgeon." Carina clenched her hands so tight Sarah was afraid the red head was going to start drawing blood. "That's why I specifically requested Ellie Bartowski, and it's why she's first on the fucking contact list!"

Rodrigo pushed his back into the Suburban's side and seemed to appear genuinely apologetic. "It's not my fault, okay, cielito? She was in surgery; there was nothing I could do." He straightened up slightly and said petulantly, "What did you want me to do, kidnap her straight out of the operating room?"

"I have no idea what the hell is going on," she overheard the man beside her mutter.

Sarah smiled faintly and said out of the side of her mouth. "Join the club."

Rodrigo added indignantly, "And besides, he was second on the list. If you didn't want him, maybe you shouldn't have put him on the list to begin with."

Carina burst into a rapid explosion of very angry Spanish after that comment. Rodrigo answered right back with his own string of rapid Spanish. The two began to argue in earnest. Since it seemed to be nothing more than an exchange of angry invectives and threats on Rodrigo's life, she only paid it partial attention. It had been years since she had used Spanish with any kind of frequency, and when Fulcrum ever deployed her internationally, it was almost always to Europe. She would occasionally pass through Spain—Madrid was a favored Fulcrum travel hub—but other than her brief forays, she rarely visited a country where her knowledge of Spanish was essential. A statuesque blonde with Slavic bone structure and blue eyes fit in much better in most places in Europe than she ever would in a place like Colombia. Still, she heard enough of their conversation to know that Rodrigo was seconds away from getting a bullet to the brain.

Abruptly, Carina ended her argument with a barked, "Enough!" She sucked in a large gulp of air and visibly calmed. "He'll have to do."

Rodrigo sighed in relief and said, "¿Estamos incluso?"

Carina stared hard at Rodrigo before shaking her head jerkily. "No." Rodrigo's face fell and Carina added, "But we're close."

Rodrigo smiled wide and spun on his heel to walk to the back of the Suburban. He opened the back door and pulled out two large duffels and one hard case. He grabbed all three and placed them at Carina's feet. He leaned close to Carina and whispered something into the red head's ear, which again caused Carina to flush, and then he stepped back and held out his hand for Carina to shake. "Hasta luego, cielito."

Carina nodded once and sent Rodrigo on his way with, "Hasta la proxima vez."

Rodrigo climbed into the Suburban and left.

Carina turned to her, now composed and face blank, and called out, "Well, don't just stand there flirting, Walker, I can't carry this shit by myself."

Sarah rolled her eyes and hurriedly walked over to Carina and grabbed one of the duffels. Carina picked up the second duffel as well as the hard case. "You know, I'm not such a slut that I automatically want to have sex with every man I see," Sarah said testily. The bag was heavier than she initially expected and she had to quickly adjust the way its strap sat on her shoulder before she stumbled.

"Just the really good looking ones, right?" Carina snarked.

"I don't even know who he is."

"I'm sure Chuck will just love hearing about how you want to screw his sister's boyfriend."

Her eyes involuntarily flicked over to Devon at Carina's comment. He was Chuck's sister's boyfriend? Really? She wondered if Chuck's sister was the mysterious Ellie Bartowski that Larkin had mentioned earlier and Chuck seemed so hesitant to talk about. They had to be the same person. Chuck wasn't married. She was sure about that, so Ellie had to be his sister. Right? There was no way she had misread things that badly.

She looked at Devon in a whole new light now. He was a prime source of new intel, ready to be exploited. A little harmless flirting and she'd get him talking. It shouldn't be hard; he seemed like a talker, much like Chuck.

Carina was looking at her with a smirk and she realized she had been staring at Devon a little too long. She did not need Carina getting the wrong idea, so she said the first thing she could think of that would be guaranteed to get Carina off her back. "So does Chuck know about you and Rodrigo?" she asked in as casual and indifferent a tone as she could manage.

Comically, Carina came to an abrupt stop, like somebody had yanked her leash tight. The red head's features transformed from haughty smirk to blank impassive canvas. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Sarah would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation if she wasn't so afraid of what the red head would do. It was just… "You're a terrible liar," Sarah said.

Whatever brief vulnerability Carina might have been feeling that allowed her obvious tell to appear, was gone now and the red head resumed walking. She growled harshly, "Mind your own business, Walker, and or I'll tell Chuck about your…indiscretions regarding the good doctor."

Sarah just rolled her eyes and matched Carina's pace. "And I'm sure Chuck will just love hearing about your big plans to kill me after this is all finished too."

Carina scowled at her but there almost seemed to be a faint hint of respect in her gray eyes too. "Unclench, Blondie, I'm sure the way you were looking at him was totally innocent."

She sighed and shook her head in frustration. "Look, if this is about the kiss, I know I made a mistake, okay? You don't have to give me a ration of shit about it," Sarah said.

They had just reached Devon, who was looking at the both of them with a very dubious expression on his face. "Carina, could you maybe tell me why some strange man I've never met before approached me in the hospital cafeteria this morning and told me I had to come with him because Chuck was in trouble?"

Carina ignored most of Devon's question, only answering what she probably thought was the important part. "Chuck's hurt. I need you to make him better."

"How hurt?" Devon asked with worried urgency. His pace started to speed up as they walked toward the house.

"Blondie, answer the man."

Sarah started when she realized that Carina expected her to brief Devon on Chuck's condition. With a deep breath, she started to explain, "Umm…single gunshot wound to the lower left abdomen. I did my best to clean and irrigate the wound, and I don't think any internal organs were damaged, but to be honest, I have no idea. He's lost a lot of blood but the bleeding has mostly stopped, at least for the moment." She paused as they crossed the threshold, Carina indicating that they should drop off Rodrigo's supplies in the dirty living room.

Sarah let her duffel drop to the floor in relief. Carina then led them out of the living room toward Chuck and the clean room. Sarah continued with her brief. "I've done my best to keep up his fluids through a steady IV stream, and gave him what little antibiotics we had."

Carina pushed open the clean room door, Devon clearly listening rapt to whatever she said. "Um, I think he may have a broken nose and at least two cracked ribs, but again, I don't know for sure."

"Are you a nurse," Devon asked curiously, his eyes never leaving her face.

She snorted. She was about as far from being a nurse as possible. "Let's just say I've picked up a thing or two while traveling and leave it at that."

Devon blinked slightly and then smiled like he understood but really didn't. "Ah, right." He nodded then and placed his duffel on a small table. "You can assist me then."

"Assist you?" she squeaked.

Carina held up her hands and was already backing away toward the door. "Don't look at me."

Devon zeroed in on Carina's retreating form. "When I finish up with Chuck, you're going to tell me everything."

"Just save him, Devon," Carina said quietly, her voice catching.

"Of course," Devon said confidently and then grinned. "He's my little bro. I would never let Chuck down."

# # # # #

According to Devon, the surgery was easy. She wouldn't know. It had taken all her concentration not to freak out as Devon cut into Chuck's body to actually pay attention to whether or not the surgery was as easy as Devon claimed. When Devon had started to dig around Chuck's small intestine so that he could retrieve the bullet, she had had to look away and breathe harshly through her nose. It wasn't the blood or even the sight of Chuck's internal organs on display; that was all stuff she had seen before. It was the fact that Devon was digging inside _Chuck_ that nearly sent her reeling. It was because of her that Devon was up to his wrists in Chuck's body and the omnipresent guilt that she constantly felt simply intensified to nearly overwhelming.

After Devon had sewn up Chuck and snapped off his bloodied gloves, he grinned at her and said, "Piece of cake."

"Really?" she asked dubiously, weakly. She had to swallow carefully before she could speak again. "He's going to be okay?"

He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah." He looked down at Chuck, lying on the bed, and smiled. "Chuck is as strong as they come."

She smiled at Chuck's unconscious body and said, "I know."

Devon started to clean up his surgical instruments. "So…how long have you and Chuck been together?" he asked conversationally, with a smile on his face.

"What?"

"I was just curious how long. Ellie is going to freak. She's been riding Chuck for as long as I've known her to finally move past Jill and find himself a nice woman."

"_What_?" she repeated again, this time far more horrified and nervous than before. She knew she had to be blushing.

Finally, her nervousness seemed to have caught up to the blond and he frowned slightly as he packed the last of his supplies into his medical bag. "I'm sorry, I know it's not really any of my business, it's just you…the way you look at him…" Devon appeared to flounder for the right words, but nothing further came. He looked almost as uncomfortable and lost as she felt.

She had no idea what to say. Her instinctual response was to deny, deny, and deny. She should deny. She didn't know Devon Woodcomb. She didn't trust him. There was no reason she should compromise her own security, and make herself vulnerable, by giving him valuable information, such as what her feelings were for Chuck. Yet he wasn't exactly wrong either… No, it was best to keep those thoughts to herself.

She started to open her mouth to express her denial and ignorance of what he was talking about, but ended up swallowing harshly and saying, "I'm not…Chuck and I…it's complicated."

That sounded lame even to her ears.

Devon chuckled and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder. "Ah, yes, that's what Carina always says when Ellie interrogates her about her 'intentions' toward Chuck. I don't think she's ever really believed that Carina and Chuck are just 'friends'."

Instant jealousy spiked through her at Devon's words, but the blond had a friendly, boisterous laugh and it helped to ease some of her tension. She just had to remind herself that what had happened in the past didn't matter anymore. Things were going to change.

"Speaking of Carina, I do believe she owes me an explanation about what's going on here," Devon said, some of the amusement draining from his face and eyes.

# # # # #

"Chuck and I," Carina began, "work for the government." She paused, moistened her lips slowly, and then added a qualification, "Of sorts."

Devon's eyes widened and he looked back and forth between herself and Carina. "Really?" he asked. "In what way?"

"As you know, Chuck's company often takes on jobs that require a certain amount of…confidentiality," Carina assured him. "Sometimes, the government outsources certain problems to us, problems that we are uniquely qualified to handle."

"Oh," Devon said. Then he grinned and exclaimed loudly, "That's awesome!"

Carina rolled her eyes but there was an easy smile on her face. "Yes, it is."

But then Devon's face transformed into confusion. "But why is that a secret?"

"Part of Chuck's job is the handling of some highly classified data. We're…encouraged to keep our mouths shut about what we do. The government doesn't want us disclosing their connection to our company. The less the outside world knows, the better."

Devon nodded his head a few times and seemed to be contemplating Carina's words. He shifted slightly in his chair and looked over his shoulder toward the back of the house, where Chuck was resting. Then he turned back around and asked wonderingly, clearly concerned, "And how did Chuck get shot?"

Carina sighed in quiet relief and it was obvious to Sarah that this was where Carina's web of lies was about to complicated. This was where it would really start to deviate from the truth. "Well, sometimes, despite all our best efforts, news of what we are working on gets out. It's never been a problem until now, but some very…determined competitors wanted to know about our latest government contract. They tried to abduct Chuck, to find out what he knows. We came here because I knew that there was no way they could know about this place and Chuck would be safe here until we could talk to our contacts in the government."

"But how did you get away," Devon asked, clearly confused. "I mean, Carina, no offense, but I can't really picture you fighting off a bunch of guys with guns."

Sarah snorted, then covered her mouth with her hand and quickly started to cough. She nearly laughed aloud when Carina scowled at her. Devon was looking at her with concern and bewilderment.

Carina's scowl quickly turned into an innocent smile when Devon turned to face her. "It was John. He and some of his men stopped the attack. He didn't think it was a good idea to go anywhere public, and we couldn't go back to the apartment, so we came here." Devon did not look all that convinced, so Carina hurriedly added. "I bought this property a while ago, hoping I could restore the house and have my own little getaway, away from the city."

Devon didn't speak for a few seconds and Sarah was content to watch the blond work things out in his head. While clearly a competent surgeon, Devon Woodcomb didn't strike her as the kind of man prone to deep thoughts. Carina's cover story was not perfect, in fact she thought it was full of holes, but she figured it would be sufficient to convince Devon of its likelihood.

Devon pointed at her and asked Carina, "And who is she?"

Carina imperceptibly relaxed. A normal person probably wouldn't pick up on the way the red head's shoulders drained of tension, or the way the skin around her eyes smoothed flat slightly, or that her hands had stopped fidgeting in her lap. But she had long ago learned how to read body language, and right now, Carina was thinking that her story had worked.

She was surprised at how…uncomfortable it seemed for Carina to lie to Devon. Clearly, the red head had not gone so native that she couldn't still create a credible lie when needed, but the strain it caused Carina was obvious to somebody like her and it was confusing. She didn't understand. It was just a lie, so what? Carina should have been used to them by now. And it was necessary for Devon's protection. If it were Chuck, and it was necessary to lie—especially if the lie kept him safe or ignorant of something unpleasant—she didn't think she'd have any problem lying right to his face. That was just what you did in the business. She certainly had no intention of ever telling Chuck about her past; she'd lie, or omit, until the day she died first. She'd never see him again if he even got a mere hint about what she had done in her life.

She studied Carina's eyes for more signs of weakness. She supposed it made sense when she looked at it in the right context. Carina was compromised, that was clear. It would stand to reason that her being compromised didn't extend only to Chuck. It was likely that everybody in Chuck's inner circle had gotten to the red head in some form or another. So, in some ways, lying to Devon was probably like lying to Chuck for her. And she had long sense picked up on just how dedicated Carina was to Chuck.

An amusing thought popped into her head. It would be easy to make Carina's life miserable by forcing her to tell more and more elaborate lies, or to simply blow her cover completely. It would be nice if the shoe was on the other foot for once and Carina was the one everybody distrusted. And it would be the perfect opportunity to finally drive a real wedge between Carina and Chuck and start enacting her plan to replace Carina in Chuck's life.

She started to open her mouth to make a comment to Devon, but Carina beat her to the punch with her next words.

"She's my cousin Sarah," Carina said.

Sarah felt her eyes widen despite all her attempts to control her reaction. She couldn't believe that Carina had gone there. She glared at the red head that simply looked back at her with a slight smirk.

Cousin? That's the best that Carina could come up with? The thought of being related to Carina nearly made her physically ill. And that didn't even take into consideration how inane a lie it was. Their entire operation was potentially in jeopardy, Chuck's safety was potentially compromised, and Carina had come up with the brilliant lie of them being related. As if that justified her presence in the situation. As if that explained all the secrecy, the lying, the _guns_. Devon had already expressed disbelief at the notion that Carina could handle herself in a combat situation, making her related to Carina only cast further doubts on the validity of Carina's lie. Now Carina was going to have to construct a lie as to why Sarah was comfortable around guns.

Apparently, she wouldn't need to blow Carina's cover, Carina was well on her way to doing it herself.

"I didn't know you had any cousins, Carina," Devon said.

"Only one," Carina said and then paused. "We don't see each other very often."

Thank God for that, Sarah thought, still glaring at Carina in contempt. Devon appeared oblivious to the interplay between herself and the other woman.

"And do all your cousins like to carry around guns?" Devon asked with a raised eyebrow. His handsome face was marred by a slight frown.

"She's –" Carina started to say, but Sarah cut her off.

"From Texas," Sarah added helpfully, hurriedly, saying the first thing that popped into her that might justify her familiarity with firearms. "I'm from Texas."

After the words had left her mouth, she realized how flimsy an excuse it was. She was as incompetent a liar as Carina. Why was she even _helping_ Carina? She should let the woman stew in a pot of her own making.

"I see," Devon said. "You don't seem to have much of an accent," Devon said skeptically.

Sarah shrugged and smiled apologetically. "Like I said, I travel a lot."

Devon nodded his head hesitantly, a slightly confused look in his eyes. "So what you're saying is that all of this is a result of industrial espionage?"

"Yes!" Carina blurted out excitedly.

"Hmmm…" Devon said contemplatively. His eyes shifted back and forth between the two of them but he didn't emit another sound.

While Devon remained silent, Sarah furtively looked at Carina, in hopes of gaining from her, insight into Devon's thought process. But Carina's face had gone from hopeful excitement that her lie was working to slowly forming worry, and now her face was as blank as it had ever been.

"You're lying," Devon finally said, "and that is not awesome," he added solemnly.

"What?" Carina asked with wide, surprised eyes.

"Lying to me about your job, I can understand." Devon was up now, and standing rigidly in between them. His eyes shifted back and forth between the two of them, and Sarah was shocked at how…serious he was being. "But lying about Chuck? That is not acceptable."

Carina was standing now too and she seemed to be completely out of sorts. Obviously she had not expected her weave of lies to fail so spectacularly. "Devon, I don't know what you think, but I am not lying!" she exclaimed in a very flustered voice.

"I know Spanish," Devon said.

That was all he said. Apparently for Carina, that was enough, as her face drained of color and she sat down heavily on the ugly, moldy, dusty sofa covered in faded yellow upholstery. "That's not in your file," she muttered.

"My file?" Devon asked.

Carina looked up at Devon from her defeated perch. Her eyes were clear and steady. Sarah was impressed at how quickly Carina had put the setback behind her and was already moving on. Carina was many negative things, in her opinion, but a better and faster adaptive thinker, she had yet to meet. "All of you have a file. It's updated periodically with pertinent information. When the hell did you learn Spanish?"

"I live in L.A., Carina, and I work in a hospital. Plus, I spent time in South America before med school. You pick it up."

"But your psych profile said you lacked the cognitive aptitude necessary to learn a secondary language," Carina protested.

Sarah almost laughed at the indignation written all over Carina's face. She didn't actually believe what was written in those profiles, did she? She had learned a long time ago that the Agency couldn't be trusted when it came to its evaluation of people. Fulcrum's very existence proved that. If they had been better, she might have never ended up in the situation that got her to leave the CIA in the first place.

She was tired of waiting for Carina to get around to telling Devon the real truth. It was obvious she was going to have to, and so she decided to speed up the process. The faster Carina started talking, the sooner she could get Devon alone and start pumping him for information. "Maybe somebody should remind those geniuses at the CIA what language Spanish is descended from," Sarah said scornfully.

"Shut up, Blondie," Carina snapped, glaring at her furiously.

"The CIA?" Devon boggled. He looked genuinely surprised and she felt a real sense of satisfaction at watching all of Carina's carefully constructed plans fall apart. If the smirking, smug bitch got taken down a peg or two, maybe she'd finally back off of her and let her pursue Chuck in peace.

She stared back defiantly at Carina. "You should just tell him the truth, Carina. I'm going to go sit with Chuck." She sent Carina a smirk of her own, glanced quickly at Devon to see him ignoring her, his attention rapt on Carina. She got a thrill at the idea of leaving Carina alone with Devon to explain everything on her own, while she got to go and spend time with Chuck. So she hurried out of the room, despite Carina's vociferous protests, and took up her position on the stool by Chuck's bedside. Carina and Devon would probably be talking for quite some time. Maybe she could get in a quick nap.

She grabbed Chuck's hand and hoped Devon was right, and that he would be okay.

# # # # #

She woke up to a hand violently shaking her shoulder. Disoriented and instantly on guard, she lashed out with a deep elbow strike toward the abdomen of whoever was shaking her. She tried to put some distance between whoever was attacking her, but found herself unable to move.

To her surprise, she was lying on the hospital bed with Chuck and somehow her legs had become entangled with his. She was resting her head on Chuck's shoulder as well. She instantly forgot all about whoever was bothering her, too preoccupied with the fact that she had been lying in bed with Chuck. What the hell?

She didn't remember climbing into bed with Chuck at all. She didn't even remember falling asleep. How long had she been asleep? How had she gotten in the bed? Why hadn't she noticed somebody sneaking up on her? How could she let her guard down like that?

She carefully sat up; moving extra slow to ensure that she didn't jar Chuck, and finally managed to extricate herself from Chuck's body. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked for whoever had bothered her.

It was Devon and he was rubbing his stomach with a grimace. "Very nice reflexes, Sarah!" he said with a wince.

Sarah blinked her eyes wide and looked at Devon in disbelief. She had never met anyone who could find the positive in any situation like Devon could. "Sorry," she mumbled, "but I don't like to be touched. Especially when I'm sleeping," she added.

"Right, sorry, it's hard to remember you as some kind of superspy sometimes."

She frowned and said a little offended, "Why? Because I'm a woman? I'll have you know that…" she trailed off when she realized Devon wasn't even looking at her.

He was looking at Chuck, and then he looked at her and there was a grin on his face. "No, because of the way you are around Chuck."

"I…I don't even remember getting into the bed," she said sheepishly. Then a little worriedly, she asked, "I didn't hurt him, did I?"

Devon was already checking Chuck's vitals. He reassured her, "Nope. The Chuckster is still in top form. In fact, we could probably even wake him if we needed to."

She couldn't help the feeling of excitement that shot through her, her heart speeding up a little, at the notion of getting to talk to Chuck. Of having him being awake, of those eyes of his awake and alive, looking at her the way they did. Embarrassed, she asked quietly, "Do you think…do you think we could?"

Devon's grin was impossibly wide and she felt her cheeks flush an even darker shade of red. She just looked at him defiantly, daring him to say anything. He simply shook his head and sobered just enough to where he only had a pleasant smile on his face. "Probably best to let him sleep at the moment, but he's no longer really in danger. The gunshot wound was relatively superficial, it was infection that was the issue, and I've pumped him full with enough antibiotics to hopefully kill whatever bug he might have picked up on the way here. All we really need to worry about is keeping him hydrated and making sure he doesn't develop a fever." Devon paused and pushed something into Chuck's IV. "I'm just saying, you know, in case of an _emergency_," Devon winked at her exaggeratedly, "we could wake him if necessary."

Sarah nearly rolled her eyes at Devon's gesture. He was one of those people. One of those people who had an overly romantic notion of spies and probably, now that he presumably knew what was going on, thought he was now part of the game. If he wasn't such a good guy, she'd dissuade him of that notion as quickly as possible, but she didn't really want to hurt his feelings. Instead, she just snorted and tried not to let her disappointment at not being able to talk to Chuck show. "Of course, that's good to know, Devon."

She pushed herself off of the bed and felt a brief sense of loss at no longer being connected to Chuck, but knew the feeling was simply ridiculous—she was not some teenage girl that couldn't stand to leave the side of her crush—and pushed her disappointment and loss down deep inside. She stretched slightly and was surprised at how few kinks there were in her muscles. She really _had_ had a good sleep.

She peered steadily at Devon who was meeting her stare for stare. Now would be as good a time as any to start finding out what Devon knew. She was suddenly grateful that Carina's borrowed top was tighter than she was used to; the way it emphasized her breasts could only help in making Devon let his guard down.

Though she wished Chuck was awake, she was at least partially relieved that he wasn't. While he was asleep, she would finally be able to get the information she needed. She only planned some pointed flirting, but she doubted Chuck would appreciate even that much. Devon was supposedly his sister's boyfriend after all, and Chuck was nothing if not loyal to his friends and family. Even though she was fairly certain that this Ellie Bartowski that everybody seemed to avoid talking about was Chuck's sister, she needed vocal confirmation and Devon could provide that. For all she knew, Chuck and this Ellie could have a very open relationship. It would not have been the first time she encountered such an arrangement. She had to be _sure_.

If Chuck ended up being married, she knew that would be…problematic, but not necessarily an obstacle. She could still work with that, but the key to surviving in the game was having the most information possible. She needed to know what she was dealing with.

She was just about to start working Devon when Carina marched through the door of the clean room. The red head was stiff and her face impressively tight. Carina looked on the verge of exploding in any direction at the slightest provocation. In her hand she held an M4, loaded and lethal.

"Walker," Carina said so low it was almost a growl. "Company."

"What?" she asked with surprise.

Sarah forgot completely about interrogating Devon and hurried over to Carina's side. When she got close, Carina effortlessly tossed her the rifle and spun on her heel, marching back out the way she came. Sarah scurried after her, ejecting the magazine from the M4, checking herself that the weapon was ready for action.

"Is it the Alejandro brothers again?"

"Don't think so," Carina grounded out. The red head kicked open the large metal case that Rodrigo had brought them earlier that day and quickly began to assemble a Mossberg 500 for herself from the components resting inside. "Two SUV's and a Crown Vic. Probably a 12-man team."

"How much time do we have?"

"About five minutes, give or take how determined he is to kick my ass," Carina said tightly. But there was almost a smile on her face too.

Sarah didn't understand at all, but knew that her understanding wasn't important anymore.

"Do you have a plan?"

Carina put the finishing touches on her Mossberg and then loaded several shells into the shotgun. She looked up at her and nodded. "You hang back. I'm going to go talk to him. If the shooting starts, you run."

Sarah blanched at the notion of running. "I'm not leaving Chuck!"

"Blondie, shut up. If the shooting starts, that almost certainly means I'm dead. He needs Chuck, but he doesn't need you. And with me gone, you'll be the only hope Chuck has, so if the shit goes down, you fucking run," Carina ordered in a tightly controlled, dangerous voice.

Sarah sighed and nodded her head once. Carina was right, and from the way Carina was talking, she had an idea who their new guest was. Wonderful.

"What about Devon?"

"He'll be fine," Carina said unconcernedly.

Carina walked to the door, placed the butt of her Mossberg to rest against her hip, and stepped outside. She walked some distance away from the house, just like she had when she had met Rodrigo earlier in the day, and waited for the approaching cars.

Sarah took up position at one of the windows to watch as distant headlights gradually became brighter.

When the Crown Vic pulled up to a stop, Sarah readied the rifle against her shoulder and took aim at the driver's side door. She'd run if it were necessary, but she wasn't about to leave Chuck unless she had no choice. Besides, she thought with a grim smile as she sighted on the head of the man climbing out of the late model car, she was owed some payback.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _The Gunfight at the O.K. Corral_ - Oh, shit is so going to go down. The only question is, which side is the Earps and which is the Cowboys?

Haha. Just kidding. Come on, like I would really do something like that. Everybody is now one big happy family.

Or are they? Read and find out!


	16. The Gunfight at the OK Corral

**Author's Note:** This chapter was a lot of fun to write. I did the whole thing in less than two days I was that excited about it. I think it's one of the better chapters I've put out in a while. Plus, I finally get to bring Casey and Bryce back into the fold. I even managed to throw in some Charah.

So _Double Agent_ is about to approach several milestones and I owe all of that to you, the readers. This chapter should either approach or go over the **100K mark**. This is by far the longest piece of fanfiction I've ever written and I have a long way to go yet. I'm sure you'll all get tired of me before I'm done, but until you do, thanks for sticking around for the ride. I will also be nearing almost **25K hits**, a new personal best by a wide margin. Perhaps most importantly from a purely vain perspective, I'm also nearing **500 reviews**. I know I won't reach 500 with this chapter, but I'm trying to think of a special prize for the person who makes that awesome 500th review. If you have any ideas, let me know, or else it'll be up to me and if it's up to me, all you'll probably get is a virtual pat on the back and that is a pretty lame prize.

And finally, the usual thanks go out to **Wepdiggy** and **malamoo**. Please read Wep's _College Years_, an awesome AU in its own right, that's far more humorous than DA could ever be. Wep provided some great insight for Casey and Chuck that will be in the next chapter. Nothing much to say about moo except that she rocks and was pretty much my beta for this chapter. Oh, and please read her _Second Chances_. I'm horribly jealous that she'll soon be crushing me in review count, but it's all well deserved, so I'm not that upset. Thanks, guys!

* * *

As Sarah expected, John Casey stepped out of the Crown Victoria. He was wearing all black, and she could just make out a pistol holstered at his side. Other than the serious look on his face, he appeared utterly relaxed, and made no move to draw the weapon at his side.

For the briefest of seconds, she considered pulling the trigger on her M4. From this range, even through the glass of the window, she couldn't miss. He'd be dead before he hit the ground, and she would have finally gotten some measure of payback for what the bastard had put her through while she was in captivity.

She almost did it.

Ultimately, she stopped herself because killing Casey, while satisfying, would only lead to her death, Carina's death, and Chuck's subsequent capture and possible termination. None of those results were at all appealing to her, except for Carina's death, of course, but she suspected that Chuck would not appreciate her hand in the death of his handler.

She forced herself to breathe easily and let the anger dissipate. Someday, she would get John Casey alone and they would settle their differences; a day where nobody's life was on the line but theirs. She would have to be satisfied with that hope for now.

The sun was just beginning to set and the sky was ablaze with a smattering of oranges, reds, and purples. Off in the distance, she could see clouds brewing together, and if she didn't know how close they actually were to Los Angeles, she'd swear they were somewhere in the middle of the Plains. A coyote howled in the distance and she shivered slightly. It was starting to get a little chilly.

The headlights from the three vehicles illuminated the immediate area, providing light the fading sun could not. The light haloed Carina and partially obscured Casey, the edges of his body bleeding into halogen infused obscurity. Sarah watched as Carina squinted to get a good look at the people in front of her, and hoped the red head would be able to see well enough if action needed to be taken.

Carina shifted her position slightly, so there was no mistaking her intent. She stood in the middle of the driveway, between the house and the men, light parting around her like a wave hitting a bulwark, cool smile on her face, shotgun still resting against her hip, like she was striking a pose for a photo shoot in some gun magazine. A cool night breeze, coming off the Tehachapi Mountains, ruffled Carina's hair. The red head stood resolute and implacable, clearly prepared to do what was necessary to keep Casey and his men from taking Chuck.

Sarah quietly pushed the window up just enough so that she could hear whatever words might be exchanged between Carina and Casey.

"You shall not pass," Carina said with a smirk.

Casey was as stiff as a pillar, arms crossed in front of his big barrel chest, and a fierce scowl on his face. "Stop with the games, Hansen, and tell me where he is." Then he lifted a hand and made a circular motion in the air.

It seemed as if Carina had been right. What looked like a 12-man team disembarked from the three vehicles, and the men were dressed in heavy body armor and all well armed. They spread apart quickly, five men taking cover behind open car doors or crouched on one knee, all pointing their weapons at Carina.

Sarah watched as another five men began to carefully circle around the house, surrounding it. They were taking no chances that anyone inside the house might try for a breakout through the back.

The remaining man climbed out of the passenger seat of the Crown Victoria then, and she was unsurprised to see Bryce Larkin. He too was dressed all in black, and had a dark colored baseball cap pressed low to his forehead. He slowly made his way to Casey's side, but kept a few feet of space between them. Sarah wrinkled her nose in disappointment as Larkin smartly put distance between himself and Casey. Carina would probably be only to shoot one of them, even at her current range, without having to adjust her shot to shoot the other.

Larkin acknowledged Carina with a nod and held his hands behind his back, as if he were at parade rest.

Carina clucked her tongue in disapproval and said, "Uh-uh, honey, hands where I can see them."

Larkin merely shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out to his side in clear view. "Happy?" he asked. Carina smiled widely in response. "I should have known you would try something like this when you sent me running after Agent Red," Larkin said with a slightly petulant tone.

"Sorry, babe, but you know me: act first, think later."

Sarah watched as Larkin lowered his hands after several seconds. They came to rest on two pistols, each holstered on either side of his hips.

Casey growled, "You two can play grabass on your own time. I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm running out of patience." Casey took a step forward but stopped at Carina's reaction.

The shotgun in Carina's hands dipped lower; not quite enough to be horizontal and on target, but the implication was clear to everyone involved. Carina had not liked Casey's movement.

"Are you here as John Casey, Chuck's friend and coworker, or Major John Casey, NSA lackey and all around bitch-boy," Carina asked with a fierce glare.

Even over the distance, Sarah could hear Casey's growl, like a bear letting you know it was not to be trifled with. One of his large hands moved to rest on the butt of the pistol holstered at his side. Carina's shotgun dipped even lower.

"This is a waste of time. I've come for Bartowski," Casey said. "Get out of my way or I'll make you."

Carina's Mossberg was leveled directly at Casey now and there was no mistaking the malice in Carina's words, "You even take one step toward the house and I shoot. If any of your _friends_," Carina said sarcastically, "take a step, I'll shoot."

"You shoot me, you die," Casey pointed out calmly.

Carina shrugged her shoulders. "I can live with that. The question is, can you?"

"I swear to God, Carina, if you ask me if I feel lucky, I'll shoot you on general principle," Casey growled.

"What do you even hope to accomplish by doing this, Carina?" Larkin asked wearily.

"You can't stop us," Casey added. Then in a slightly patronizing tone, he said, "You understand that right?"

"I understand," Carina said quietly. Not for the first time, Sarah was impressed by Carina's dedication and her loyalty. It was an impossible situation Carina was in. If she resisted, she would die, but if she didn't, it could very well mean Chuck's death. Sarah didn't know what she would do if she were in Carina's place. She'd like to think she would stick it out, to the end, for Chuck, but she wasn't sure if she was ready or even capable of making that kind of commitment. To be that…willing to die for another person? That required a certain level of self-sacrifice and belief that had been beyond her for years. She didn't know what she would do; was glad that she didn't have to find out.

In some ways, she was making the choice right now by choosing to stay and not running as soon as she had the chance. That gave her a small amount of comfort. Only in this situation, Carina was making the choice for her. If Carina stayed, then so would she. If Carina died, then so would she. Either way, whether she ultimately stayed or went, whether she fought back if it came to that, she was probably screwed. Maybe shooting Casey wasn't such a bad idea after all…

Carina straightened her shoulders, her stance solid and unmoving. She said with a clear, crisp voice that cut through the night, "And _you_ understand something, Casey: that if anything happens, anything at all—your fault, my fault, nobody's fault—it won't matter. I'm gonna blow your head off first. No matter what else happens, no matter what you say or do, I'm going to kill you. So please don't force me to do something I don't want to do."

The sun was almost completely below the horizon now, with only a burning orange dwindling into nothing way off in the distance. If not for the headlights, it would be nearly impossible to see what was going on. But Sarah could see well enough, and she started to mentally assign targeting vectors and orders of precedence. Larkin would be her first target, then the two agents closest to her, one standing behind an open truck door, and the other resting on one knee five feet from his partner. She wouldn't be able to hit the other three agents without moving to a new position, so she quickly looked behind her into the house to plan her path to a better firing position when the time came.

All in all, it took her about 20 seconds to determine her plan of action.

That was about as long as it took Casey to respond to Carina's promise. "I always did think you had more balls than brains, Carina." Casey chuckled lightly, most of the sound drifting away on the wind. "He doesn't love you, you know that don't you?"

"It's not about love, Casey. It's about loyalty. You'd know that if you weren't such a company man."

Sarah watched as Larkin started to ease one of his pistols from a holster. She interpreted that as her cue. Before Larkin had even drawn the pistol halfway from its holster, she spun her aim from Casey to the ground at Larkin's feet and fired off one round. The sound of the gunshot carried through the night like thunder, and everyone but Carina spun slightly to face the house and her. Larkin hurriedly replaced the pistol back in its holster and took a step back.

"What the hell was that, Carina!?" Casey bellowed, clearly perturbed.

Sarah felt like laughing in glee as she watched the chaos unfold. Larkin seemed skittish, Casey even more on edge, and the five agents providing backup tensed up like statues.

"What? You think I'm here alone?" Carina said, her tone full of confidence and bravado. "_I_ can't stop you, that's true, but I don't have to." Carina paused and adjusted the shotgun against her shoulder slightly. "This is Chuck we're talking about here. You think this is my only plan? You think I would leave his safety up to chance? I guarantee you if you try anything most of you will be dead before you reach the house."

Carina moved a foot back so that she could better brace her stance. "Now I'm sure you're fine with that, Casey, but Bryce?" Her eyes shifted to Bryce, but the Mossberg never stopped aiming at Casey. "Pretty boy sacrificing himself for the mission?" her words were dripping with scorn. "_Come on_."

Detritus and grass carried on the wind between the two separate groups. Casey brushed some from his face and spit quickly to the ground. "I assume the blonde bitch is your backup."

Carina laughed loudly, her whole body shaking. But her aim didn't waver. "Didn't you hear, Casey? We're BFF's now."

Sarah felt the same nauseous feeling she felt when Carina had told Devon that they were cousins, but she had to admit, that if it meant pissing off John Casey, she'd gladly pretend to be friends with Carina.

Casey snorted in contempt and said harshly, "Last chance, Hansen."

"I'm prepared to die for Chuck." Carina seemed to peer intensely at Casey. "Are you?"

Casey undid the strap holding his pistol in its holster and rested his hand on the weapon, clearly ready to draw. He didn't answer Carina's question, instead asking one of his own, "What kind of shells are you using?"

"12 gauge buck," Carina said.

Casey nodded once and smirked. "Just not the face, all right? I always wanted an open casket."

"So you're really going to make me do this?"

"It's my job," Casey said simply. Then he added after several seconds of silence, "You took him and you ran. Without me. What did you expect?"

"I did it to save his life. They tried to kill him," Carina said plaintively.

"We could have protected him, Carina, if you had just trusted us," Larkin pointed out. He stepped to his side, putting even more distance between himself and Casey.

"So what, you're just going to shoot me and hand him over to that bitch? How is that protecting him?" Carina demanded angrily.

"This is pointless," Casey grounded out. The big man turned his head to look at Larkin and locked eyes. Larkin nodded once and Sarah knew that they were about to make their move.

Casey started to slowly sidestep left while Larkin went right. Carina was finally forced to only pick one target and she chose Casey. "Don't," Carina pleaded. "We've worked together for almost five years, John. Don't make me shoot you."

Larkin was almost behind Carina now, and Sarah adjusted her aim to line up on his head instead of Casey's. She would have to trust Carina to take care of Casey when the time came. She was confident she could kill Larkin before he managed to get a shot off.

"Then get out of the way, Carina, and we can bring him back in together. The General will understand why you ran. I'll vouch for you."

"And how do I know that as soon as Chuck is in custody they won't immediately stick him in a bunker or worse?"

"You don't," Casey said. "They may try, but I won't let that happen." Sarah heard Casey take in a big breath of air. "If they try it, we'll run _together_."

"Swear to me, John, that you won't let them," Carina demanded.

Sarah watched as Carina's Mossberg wavered slightly. The red head was actually considering giving in. Carina couldn't be serious. They had ran precisely because Carina believed Chuck wasn't safe with anyone but her, and now the woman was contemplating giving into Casey's request. That was ridiculous. She'd seen nothing to indicate that Casey was even remotely trustworthy, or Larkin for that matter. Sarah wouldn't let them take Chuck. If they took Chuck now, she'd never see him again. It was doubtful she'd even live long enough to see him again. Casey was not as likely to be as understanding about her as Carina or Larkin were.

"I give you my word, Carina, that I will not let them take Chuck," Casey said solemnly.

As soon as she heard Casey's words, Sarah knew she was screwed. Carina was going to give in. After only a brief hesitation after Casey's promise, Carina lowered the shotgun until it was pointed at the ground.

Sarah cursed under her breath and considered her options. She could run, as Carina had suggested earlier. She probably had a few seconds before they got things squared away outside and decided to come inside the house. She'd probably be able to disable enough of the guards surrounding the house to be able to get away, but then what? What would she do? She was miles away from civilization. Assuming she even made it to the interstate before they found her, what then? Go back to Fulcrum? She couldn't do that anymore, didn't think she could live that life, but what was her alternative? And if she stayed? Best case scenario, assuming Casey didn't automatically shoot her, was she'd be stuck in a cell again for all eternity, her only enjoyment out of life the few days each month Chuck deigned to grace her with his presence.

That was not living.

Maybe, despite being a fugitive and helping to abscond with very valuable Agency personnel, Chuck's promise of a new life as a rehabilitated member of the CIA was still possible. And Chuck had promised her that they would work together if she agreed to his proposal. Surrendering with Carina and hoping for Agency leniency might be her only choice. She could always claim that Carina had _made_ her help at gunpoint, but doubted that excuse would hold much water.

"What's going on?" she heard a raspy, slurred voice ask from behind her.

In shock, she spun around, pointing her M4 at the two men behind her. She was seriously getting sloppy. First she had let Devon get the best of her while sleeping and now she had let Chuck and Devon sneak up on her.

Wait, _Chuck_! Her eyes widened as she stared at a heavily drugged Chuck leaning precariously against Devon's side. Devon had one arm wrapped sturdily around Chuck's shoulders and the two moved together as if one.

Devon's eyes were wide and clear blue, a very apologetic and conflicted look on his face. "Sorry," he said quietly. "I thought, with Carina saying people were here, it would be a good idea to wake him up. When I told him what was going on, he insisted I take him out to see for himself what was going on."

"Devon," she hissed angrily. Chuck looked terrible, his face white and there was a light sheen of sweat dotting his face. "Christ, you're supposed to be a _doctor_."

Devon flushed in embarrassment and stuttered, "S-s-sorry! Chuck can be very persuasive when he wants to be."

Chuck lolled his head off of Devon's shoulder to stare at her with slightly unfocused eyes. "It's okay, Sarah, I'm okay." He smiled crookedly. "Tell me what's going on."

Sarah sighed loudly and placed the strap of her M4 over her shoulder so she could hurry over to Devon and help him support Chuck on his other side. "Come on, help me get him to the couch."

With her help, it was relatively easy maneuvering Chuck so that he could sit on the ugly, old couch. With a contented sigh, Chuck relaxed into the thin cushions and looked up at her expectantly.

"Casey is here with Larkin. They've come to take you into custody."

Chuck hummed quietly to himself and then nodded. He started to list precariously to his left and Sarah quickly leaned down and righted him.

Devon whispered to her, "Maybe you should sit with him, keep him stable."

She frowned and felt indecision claw at her. "I…I can't. I have to keep an eye on what's going on." She pursed her lips and said in disappointment, "You should do it. I've got to go."

She started to walk away but Chuck called out to her pleadingly, "Sarah, wait!"

She quickly turned around and scrambled back to Chuck, worried. "What? Are you okay?"

Chuck nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yeah, I feel great!"

Sarah rolled her eyes and looked at Devon exasperatedly. "Just how much drugs did you give him?"

"He was just in surgery a few hours ago and Chuck's pain threshold has never been that high."

Great. He was even loopier now than when they had kissed. How was she supposed to deal with him like this? "What do you want, Chuck?"

The smile disappeared from Chuck's face and he said in a serious tone, "Tell everyone I want to speak to them. Right now."

She blinked in surprise at the sudden shift, but nodded her head. Maybe Chuck wasn't quite as out of it as she thought. "Okay, Chuck, I'll be right back."

She started to turn around, but Chuck blurted out, "No, wait! You stay, Devon go."

Sarah groaned in frustration and looked at Devon, who simply nodded and made his way toward the front door.

Chuck patted the seat cushion next to him, sending some dust into the air. "Sit next to me, Sarah, right now." He paused to moisten his lips and slurred out, "And give me your gun."

Sarah blanched and stopped herself mid-motion from complying with Chuck's order to sit. "I am not giving you my gun, Chuck. You can't even stand on your own, what are you going to do with it?"

"Save your life!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Casey!" Chuck said with a strangled whisper. He reached out to grab the M4 from her hands. She only hesitated for a second before she let him take the weapon from her. She sat beside him with a sigh, Chuck looked relieved. "Now promise me that you will stay quiet and let me do the talking."

"Chuck, I don't…what are you going to do?" Sarah said quietly.

"Sarah, I like you whole and in one piece, so please just do what I say," Chuck said wearily. His words were remarkably clear. Either the drugs were wearing off, which seemed unlikely, or Chuck was concentrating really hard before he spoke.

"Okay, Chuck, I…I trust you," she said. Then she slipped her arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, so that his head was lightly resting on her shoulder and his whole body was pressed snugly against hers. It was just to keep him upright, that was all.

Chuck sighed in what sounded like contentment, the M4 sliding haphazardly to the floor by his feet. She had to try really hard to resist the temptation to lean forward and pick up the weapon, but Chuck had taken it from her for a reason, even if he did appear practically asleep at the moment.

She heard the sound of approaching voices, Casey's in particular stood out, and she gently shook Chuck. "Chuck, hey, you need to wake up. They're coming."

"Sleepy," he murmured childlike. "You smell nice," he added for good measure. Then he started to gently nuzzle her neck.

Oh God… She let out her own sigh of contentment and subconsciously began turning her neck so that he had easier access. Her heart started to beat faster and she felt her whole body warm. She was suddenly starting to feel a little sleepy herself, and snuggled in closer to Chuck.

Wait! What was she doing? This was _wrong_. Chuck very lightly kissed her where her neck met shoulder and she shivered. Oh no, there was nothing wrong about this. She bit down on her bottom lip and tried ineffectively to push him away from her. She forced herself awake and alert. The others would be inside the house at any second and she really did not want them to see what Chuck was doing to her.

Why wasn't she moving? Chuck was half asleep and probably drugged out of his mind. She could turn around, slip her hands up to his neck, and tug at a grotesque angle, breaking his neck. He was so defenseless he wouldn't even be able to stop her even if he knew what she was doing. Yet, somehow, he was the one overpowering her. Somehow, she was unable to put space between them. He was completely out of it, and she was the one who could barely move, could barely think straight, could barely fight back.

When he kissed her again and she let out a quiet moan despite her best efforts to keep her mouth shut, she had had enough. "Chuck," she hissed desperately. "You need to stop. They're almost here!"

She was pathetic. He didn't know what he was doing and she could easily push him away if she really wanted to. Well, she couldn't push him. That might hurt him. Might pull his stitches or aggravate his wound or make him feel pain. So pushing…was out. She could probably nudge him, like just knock his head away. But that might hurt him too.

Yup, she was screwed. The others would come in, see she was nothing but a hormone-driven idiot and not the competent, dangerous agent she needed them to see her as, and they would dismiss her. They were never going to take her seriously if they found her necking on the couch with Chuck. But there was nothing she could do.

Abruptly, Chuck stopped and she let out a groan of disappointment. She turned a questioning gaze to him, and he gave her a small smile in response. He went back to resting his head on her shoulder, but, thankfully, was no longer trying to torture her.

At least he could have the decency to apologize for starting something he had no intention of finishing. He didn't say a thing and she growled in frustration. Now she really wanted to grab the M4 from the floor and…she didn't know what she would do with the weapon if she had it, but it was likely to be unpleasant.

The four of them came in then. Carina entered first, her eyes automatically zeroing in on the two of them sitting on the couch. Sarah watched as the red head's eyes darkened, but the woman's face transformed into a blank façade, and she marched over to the couch. Carina took up position like a hawk sitting on its perch, just to the left of Chuck, her eyes locked on the people trailing behind her, her shotgun resting carefully across her knees. One of the red head's hands came down to brush lightly against the back of Chuck's neck, and instant jealousy flared inside Sarah at the gesture. But she bit her lip and let it go. She decided it was okay. Just this once. Carina deserved a little familiarity after what she had just done for Chuck outside.

Devon was next, and the blond doctor scurried over to kneel in front of Chuck. He immediately lifted a hand to Chuck's neck, checking his pulse. He whispered to her, "How is he?"

She smirked and whispered back, "He doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself, but otherwise, I'd say he's good."

Devon looked at her in confusion but nodded his head anyway. He carefully checked each of Chuck's pupils and pressed the back of his hand against Chuck's forehead. Once satisfied that his charge was still doing okay, he hurriedly stood up and moved behind the couch. Sarah put him out of her mind. She needed to concentrate on the next two people.

Casey and Larkin entered practically as one. Casey's heavy footfalls sounded like blocks of concrete pounding into the old wooden floor of the house. He was clearly not pleased, and as soon as he saw her, she watched him bristle like a porcupine. She was amazed he managed to control himself enough not to launch himself at her instantly.

Larkin's reaction was more subtle, but still telling. Whereas Casey saw her, Larkin saw her _and_ Chuck. His eyes narrowed and for the briefest of seconds, he frowned. But much like Carina before him, he transformed his face into a blank canvas, only his striking blue eyes showing signs of life.

Everyone stared at everyone, nobody saying a word. She certainly didn't want to be the one to break the silence. She didn't even know what she would say.

So of course it would be Chuck who would break the silence. "Nice to see the whole gang here," he said with a bit of a slur.

"I am not going to talk about this with _her_ here," Casey growled and pointed at her accusingly.

"Casey, shut up," Chuck stated simply.

"Don't you talk to me that way, Bartowski!" Casey snapped and took a few angry steps forward. He only stopped when Carina casually lifted the shotgun slightly off her knees.

"I said shut up, John," Chuck said again.

"Chuck…" Carina said warningly.

Chuck just shook his head. With obvious effort, he lifted his head off of her shoulder and fixed Casey with as steady a look as he could probably manage. "Sarah is a member of this team now, Casey, so you better learn to accept that. If not, you can leave. I'm kinda high right now, so I don't care which, but _decide_."

Nobody said a thing. She was too pleased by Chuck's declaration to do anything more than pull Chuck closer to her and his head went back to resting where it belonged. Chuck thought she was a member of the team. He valued her enough that he had just given one of his own teammates and friends an ultimatum on her behalf. Maybe she really was lucky, maybe she really wouldn't end up back in her cell when this whole ordeal was over.

"You're lucky you're on the verge of death already, Chuck, or else I'd shoot you," Casey said snidely.

"I love you too," Chuck slurred with a grin on his face. "And I'm okay. I'm sure you were worried about me."

Casey merely grunted in response, but he visibly relaxed.

Carina spoke up, "Look, we need to discuss things. We need a plan. What's Beckman's play here?"

"Beckman?" Chuck asked. "I need to talk to her."

"You're not exactly her favorite person right now, Bartowski," Casey said.

"When was I ever?" Chuck snarked.

Larkin entered into the conversation then. "Chuck's right. Beckman needs to talk to Chuck herself. It's the only way she'll reconsider her options. And besides," he paused and made a quick, vague hand gesture toward her and Chuck sitting together on the couch, "somebody is going to have to explain…_that_ to her as well."

"Agreed," Casey said with clear distaste.

"Good. I'm glad we got that settled," Chuck said brightly.

Sarah didn't think that settled anything at all, but she wasn't about to start arguing about it. She honestly didn't care. As long as she wasn't separated from Chuck, she really didn't care what everybody else decided to do.

Then Chuck switched directions almost instantaneously, his mood going from happy to serious. She could feel his entire body tense up along her length and it caused her to tense as well.

"Now can somebody please explain what the hell Devon is doing here?"

Carina sighed.

* * *

**Next chapter**: _We're Getting the Band Back Together_ - Chuck gets angry at two people, guess who. Casey and Chuck talk. Team Bartowski gains a new member. And we storm the castle.


	17. Getting the Band Back Together

**Author's Note:** Well, here we go, the next chapter. Not much to say here, for once. I'm hard at work on Chapter 18. Should be a doozy. Should be, if you pardon the expression, a "game changer". Hopefully it'll get done soon, but to be honest, I think I may take a fic writing hiatus for a while. I'm starting to get a little burned out and I'm not as excited about this story as I once was. I think I may need to take some time off to recharge. So if I take a while to update, now you know why.

As usual, thanks go to **Wepdiggy** and **malamoo** for their assistance on improving this chapter. Even if it's not your cup of tea, moo, thanks. Read their stories, folks, they deserve the reviews far more than me. Not that I don't appreciate those of you who take time out of your lives to give me a word or two.

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Chuck was angry with both women.

They were both responsible, in their own way, for dragging Devon into his other life and he was incensed.

Had he the strength, he probably would have went on some kind of tirade, telling them exactly how he felt, with lots of gestures and yelling. He was only sitting on the couch at the moment because he was still too weak to stand and the couch was the only place he could rest.

Carina was standing; he had glared at her until she got up from the couch and left his side. Sarah wouldn't leave the couch, but he was sitting as far away from her as he could. He didn't care that he was acting a bit childish; after everything that had happened to him, he figured he was allowed that. Besides, he wasn't completely himself at the moment. The drugs were making it really hard to think or process complex thoughts. It was easy to be angry because that's what his addled mind was telling him to be. He didn't need to know why.

He could see out of the corner of his eye the way Sarah kept sending him pathetic, sorrowful looks, but if Carina's pouting hadn't worked, Sarah's certainly wasn't going to work either.

When he was able to actually think clearly enough to contemplate why he was upset with them, he realized that he was angrier with Sarah than he was with Carina. At least Carina had done what she did because she thought his life was in danger. He had no idea why Sarah had done what she did. And he was at least grateful that it had been Devon that had been pulled into his life and not Ellie, even if that had been a happy accident.

He wasn't exactly proud of that thought, as he genuinely did care for Devon and was looking forward to the inevitable day the man officially became family, but Ellie was _Ellie_. If he had to choose between the two, there was no question the person he'd choose. He was sure Devon knew that and probably felt the same. It was one of the reasons why he liked the man. He knew that if anything ever happened to him, Devon was more than capable of being there for Ellie.

Carina had broken her promise to him, but he had always known in the back of his mind that it was an empty promise at best and an outright lie at worst. He knew Carina, knew how she thought, and knew how she felt. He had always known that if it was ever necessary, she'd put his safety over the safety of anyone else's, including Ellie or any other member of his family. He had never really expected her to keep his family out of his other life if the moment came.

While it made him angry that she'd broken that promise, he could at least accept it, because it was inevitable. But Sarah…what was she thinking?

He glanced over at her from under hooded eyes and his head swam slightly at the abrupt movement. He was still a little too woozy to be attempting complex physical maneuvers like head turning. At least his head cleared a little more with every passing second, but that only meant the pain in his side grew worse. Right now it was nothing more than a faint pinch, but in an hour's time, if he didn't get more drugs, it would probably feel like his skin was being pulled by a pair of needle-nose pliers.

He'd had his skin pulled by needle-nose pliers many years ago, when he'd first met Carina. He really didn't want to relive the experience if it could be helped. Unfortunately, if he was going to get himself, Sarah, and his team through the next few hours, he needed to be as cogent as possible. That meant no more drugs, which meant pain, which meant feeling anger and disappointment toward people he really didn't want to be angry with.

He stopped looking at Sarah, not even bothering to acknowledge the hopeful look in her gorgeous blue eyes. She had gone out of her way to hamper Carina's attempts to spin a suitable lie for Devon, even going as far as alluding to Devon that it was the CIA that they worked for, and as a result, Carina had had no choice but to tell Devon almost everything. Sarah had purposely chosen to put his family in danger. And for what reason? Because she wanted to screw over Carina? Whatever. She had refused to tell him why she'd done what she'd done when he had asked after Carina's explanation as to why Devon was around, and he wasn't particularly interested in hearing her excuses at the moment.

Maybe an agent even as experienced as Sarah Walker slipped up.

Maybe she was just so emotionally backwards she didn't see the harm.

Whatever the reason, if he had any suspicion she'd done it for ulterior motives, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Certainly he wasn't going to let her off the hook—if ever.

He focused on Casey then and knew it was time. "I'd like to speak to John alone, please," he said into the room.

Casey scowled at him and Carina stiffened, almost like she had been slapped. She had always been his confidante and he felt a little guilty to be the cause of that look. He wanted to tell her it had nothing to do with her broken promise, but he didn't have time to assuage her feelings at the moment. Every second wasted was another second of unneeded pain. And Devon was right, his pain threshold had never been that high.

"Why?" Carina asked with obvious pain in her voice. There was more than a little suspicion there as well and he knew she was probably trying to think of the many different reasons for why he'd want to talk to Casey without her.

He sighed and struggled to bring his right hand up—the hand from his uninjured side—to wipe his forehead free of sweat. He couldn't stand her looking so hurt, and he knew he would have to mitigate some of the damage now. He needed her to know that he wasn't trying to punish her or keep her out of the loop. He just wanted to talk to Casey, and Casey wouldn't open up if there was anybody around but him; not even Carina.

"I just…I want to talk to him about things like we did on my…birthday," Chuck said and looked directly at Carina's eyes.

He couldn't stop the faint blush from creeping up his neck at remembering the night of his 25th birthday. That had been the one and only time that he and Carina had slept together. It had also been a night of deep reflection and a very long conversation regarding emotions, dreams, hopes and just what the hell was going on between himself and his beautiful handler. After their talk, and a lot of celebrating and alcohol, he had lowered his guard enough to let Carina in.

He was hoping that by mentioning probably the most personal and emotional night that they had ever had together, she would understand that what he wanted to talk to Casey about had nothing to do with the spy life, and was simply a conversation between Chuck Bartowski and John Casey. By the way she reacted he knew mentioning his birthday had been the right choice.

She blushed slightly but it was clear she had gotten his message. "Oh," she said. "Okay," she added, still blushing. She nodded her head and said to everybody, "Let's go. The boys need their alone time now."

Sarah was the second to last to leave the room, and it was obvious from her dejected shoulders and slow pace that she clearly didn't want to. But Carina was not giving her much of a choice, glaring at the blonde, tapping her foot in clear impatience. He tried not to think too hard about Sarah and what she was thinking at the moment.

Now it was just Casey and himself.

"So where is it," he asked without preamble.

Casey tried to play dumb, but the big man had never been the best actor. "Where's what?"

Chuck rolled his eyes and carefully stretched himself out along the couch. His side felt so much better now that he wasn't sitting up. Of course, it was also slightly harder to stay awake, but it was a fair trade off in his mind. He would just have to make sure he didn't fall asleep, or Casey was likely to smother him with a pillow for his brazenness earlier. "Where's the second transmitter you planted on me? I'm not sure how much time has actually passed, but I don't think it's been long enough to track us by satellite, so another transmitter is the only way you could have found us."

Casey snorted contemptuously and hooked his thumbs under his belt. "I wouldn't tell Carina, what makes you think I'll tell you?" Then the big man grinned smugly, clearly pleased with himself. Casey obviously expected him to object or whine or get frustrated at his refusal to answer.

If the drugs weren't loosening his tongue a little more readily than usual, he very well might have objected to Casey holding back on him. But Chuck was determined to smooth things out for Team Bartowski and he would need Casey's agreement to tow the line in order to do that. So Chuck decided to disabuse Casey of the notion that he would complain. "Because I'll let you keep it in," Chuck said matter of fact. He wasn't sure if the feeling of elation he felt was because of the drugs or because of the way Casey's smugness gradually disappeared. "But I think I deserve to know where it is."

Casey scowled and huffed in frustration. "You're a pain in my ass, you know that right?" The vein on his neck began to throb. "Always getting into trouble and always needing me to bail you out."

"It's not my fault!" Chuck did object this time. For once, it was not remotely his fault that he'd gotten shot and he didn't like being wrongfully accused. Well, okay, so he had left the confines of the safe room, but Sarah needed him. So that totally didn't count. "Beckman ordered Commander Chase to let Fulcrum into the facility. How was I supposed to know he was a traitor?"

Casey scoffed and started to pace. "And I suppose it's not your fault that you had to leave the safe room, _where I put you_, to save your little girlfriend too, right?"

"We _need_ her, Casey," Chuck said. He winced and wasn't surprised that Casey seemed to have read his mind. It probably wasn't smart to let Casey know that his feelings for saving Sarah were less than professional even though he was pretty sure Casey already knew that.

"We were doing just fine before her," Casey pouted slightly and frowned at him. He spun on his heel and threw up an angry arm in the direction of the driveway, where Sarah and the others were currently waiting. "What do you even see in her? I mean, besides the obvious. She's a traitor, Chuck. A traitor!" he growled.

"Do you even know why she turned against the CIA?" Chuck asked. He shifted his upper torso the wrong way slightly and had to take in a quick intake of breath to help deal with the sudden flare of pain. He needed to be more careful.

Casey slashed through the air with a heavy hand. "Doesn't matter," Casey said coldly. "There is no excuse for turning against your country, Chuck."

"She never turned against her country, she simply turned her back on a part of it," Chuck stated plainly. "Casey, they betrayed her. They murdered her father, forced her into indentured servitude, and sold her out when it became convenient for them," Chuck said harshly.

Chuck had flashed on Sarah Walker's file; at least the parts that hadn't been redacted. And what he had seen had sickened him and made him feel a level of anger he'd never quite experienced before. It was one of the major reasons why, despite her many terrible crimes, that he had always felt a certain level of sympathy for her. She might have been a criminal, and despite his earlier words, in some ways a traitor, but she was only those things largely because her government had made her that way.

Chuck sat up straight and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. His mind clouded a bit but it was becoming clearer by the second now. He still had to take a few deep breaths to steady himself though. Once he felt stable enough, he lifted his head and stared hard at Casey. "Frankly, I don't blame her at all, Casey. I might have done the same thing. I think, even you would."

Casey made a face but he didn't argue which surprised Chuck. He started to wonder if maybe Casey was actually as angry and resentful of Sarah as he acted. "She's a killer, Chuck. You realize that, right? Someday, when you least expect it, she'll just wake up and realize that she's tired of playing you and she'll cut your throat like she did with Forrest."

Chuck shrugged and smiled slightly at Casey. "That's my choice." It wasn't like he hadn't considered that very thing happening before. He knew that Sarah was not only a dangerous person but a very volatile and unpredictable one as well. Still…he couldn't deny his attraction any longer. There was something inside of her that just drew him to her like a moth to a bright, golden flame. She may have been dangerous but he knew she had potential to be so much more.

"No, it's not," Casey argued, full of exasperation. "As long as that thing is in your head," Casey reached out with a long arm and flicked his finger solidly against Chuck's forehead, sending Chuck flying back in surprise, "who you screw is _my_ choice."

Chuck chuckled darkly and rubbed his forehead absently. "If you want to put up surveillance, I don't care. But it's not like we're going to be jumping into bed right away, Casey. You heard what she said to Devon." Chuck sighed and slumped into the couch cushions in sullen defeat, ignoring the fresh wave of pain that hit him at the movement. "I don't even think she realized she was doing anything wrong."

"I'm not going to work with her," Casey said stubbornly. He glowered and looked like a giant kid that refused to play nice with the kid that had just stolen his ball.

"You are, Casey," Chuck resolutely said.

"I'm not," Casey insisted and added on a slight growl for good measure.

Chuck was undeterred and said, "_You_ _are_." Chuck knew there was no room for argument here. "With her on our side, we can do serious, permanent damage to Fulcrum." Of course, what Chuck didn't say was that he didn't want Sarah to go away, because he could only imagine Casey's reaction to _that_.

"And what, I'm just supposed to accept the fact that one day she might kill you?"

"She won't ever hurt me, Casey."

"How do you know?"

"I just know," Chuck said. He closed his eyes and relaxed on the couch as best he could. As far as he was concerned, the Sarah portion of the conversation was now over.

It was time to move onto far more important matters. "So where is it, Casey?"

Casey sighed and scratched the side of his head wearily. "Let's just say your visit to the dentist three months ago wasn't as benign as you thought."

Chuck just nodded his head and slowly began to run his tongue along his teeth. "Figures," he mumbled to himself. "I knew that guy was a little more of a medieval torturer than Dr. Holcomb usually is." He was still searching his mouth with his tongue for anything unusual. "You need to tell her why you used a secondary tracker," he said, distracted.

Casey scoffed immediately. "I do not."

Chuck shook his head, ignoring the nauseous feeling it invoked in him. "You do, Casey," he said insistently. "You're her partner and right now she doesn't really trust you. And if Carina doesn't trust you, _I_ don't trust you. And that means you can't be on the team anymore."

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say that," Casey growled and leaned forward until his face was only inches away from Chuck's. "I put a secondary tracker on you because I knew someday, she would do something stupider than usual, and try to run. I was simply doing my job, that's all," he said with finality. Then he reached up and poked Chuck in the forehead again. "Don't ever question that."

"Fine!" Chuck snapped in frustration. "Then lie to her. Tell her you did it because you were worried about me or because you didn't trust Beckman or because you just believe in redundancy, I don't care." Chuck made himself calm down and shut his eyes. "Just get her to trust you again, Casey. _Please_," he pleaded quietly.

Casey grunted in response and sat beside him on the couch. The cushions were so old that Casey's bulk actually caused them to sink down like a bowling ball in the middle of a mattress. He grunted in annoyance and had to adjust his positioning until he was sitting on the very edge of the cushion. He looked like a gargoyle ready to take flight over the streets of Paris.

"You realize that you just told me to gain back Carina's trust by lying to her, don't you?" Casey actually sounded concerned.

"I…uh…you're right, that's not a good idea," Chuck said in a tired tone. "It's really hard to keep my head straight right now, Casey."

Casey chuckled from deep in his chest, and it sort of sounded like too big sticks rubbing against each other to Chuck. "How did it feel to get shot for the first time?"

"Like some dude just whacked me in the stomach with a sledge hammer," Chuck groused.

Casey shook his head and said in a very disapproving tone, "I saw the bodies, Chuck. What did I tell you about wounding shots only?"

"Hey! How do you know which shots were mine?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Because you're the only idiot I know that would actually shoot somebody in the knees just because some character on some stupid space western told you it was a good idea."

"_Firefly_ is not stupid."

Casey growled, already losing patience. "Chuck, what did I teach you?"

"Umm…aim for the extremities and hope for the best?"

Casey smacked Chuck swiftly upside the head. "No, dumbass, there is no room for hoping when your life is on the line. I told you to never do wounding shots. Period."

"Ow," Chuck mouthed silently and had to clamp his lips shut tightly to prevent himself from letting his nausea overwhelm him. He probably had that head slap coming.

"You owe me 10 hours in the range now," Casey said.

"What!? Noooo," Chuck whined. "Aw come on, Casey, that's not fair. I didn't even miss!"

Casey just shook his head unfeeling. "Too bad. You should have considered that before. I told you what would happen if you couldn't handle yourself in a firefight properly."

"Fine," Chuck pouted and turned away slightly from Casey. But then he brightened slightly and figured he'd better get as much use out of his fugue state as he could before the drugs completely wore off. "Hey, Casey," he said, trying to stop himself from smiling.

"What?"

"So when do I get my merit badge?"

"Merit badge?" Casey asked, confused.

"Yeah, you said that whenever I got shot for the first time, you'd give me a merit badge to signify me finally becoming a man."

"Bartowski…that was a joke."

"Oh," Chuck said, sounding a bit deflated. "Hey, Casey?"

"What?" Casey asked, a little angrier than he had the first time.

"Thanks for coming to rescue me. I missed you too."

"I did not miss you. I just didn't want to deal with Beckman riding my ass for the rest of my life," Casey objected indignantly. He twisted slightly on the couch so that he could look more fully at Chuck, a frustrated frown on his face.

"Of course not," Chuck said and did his best to appear as innocently as possible. "Hey, Casey," Chuck said.

"Chuck, I swear to God…"

"When do I get to pick out my gun?"

"W-what!?" Casey looked genuinely taken aback by Chuck's question. Chuck almost burst out laughing. For some reason, he found Casey's face suddenly very amusing.

"You also said when I shot somebody for the first time, you'd give me one of your guns."

"I never said that!" Casey said horrified. "How the Hell are you even remembering this stuff?" Casey mumbled under his breath.

Chuck couldn't stop himself completely from letting out a laugh this time. He knew he was probably staring at Casey with wide, hazy eyes. He probably looked like an idiot, thanks to the drugs, but he didn't care. He just continued to laugh while Casey glowered.

He finally calmed himself down after a few seconds, mainly because it kind of hurt to laugh. The two men sat in silence for what seemed a long time until Chuck couldn't help himself any longer. "Hey, Casey," Chuck started.

"Shut up, Chuck, or else I won't care how high or hurt you are."

Chuck was undeterred however. "I'm tired, can I use you as my pillow?"

Casey growled loudly in anger and pushed himself off the couch and stood in front of it, looking down at Chuck. Casey's face was red and it was obvious that the big man was on the brink of violence. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met, Bartowski. I'm leaving now before I kill you."

Casey then turned around and stomped toward the front door. Chuck hurriedly climbed to his feet as fast as he could, which was not very fast at all, and half hobbled, half stumbled toward the door. He reminded himself of a zombie with the way he was walking, but it was the fastest speed he could maintain with his wounded side. He probably shouldn't even be up and walking on his own, he could easily tear his stitches that way. But he didn't care, it was too much fun torturing Casey and his hulking protector would have never let him get away with so much if he wasn't hurt, so he couldn't waste such a golden opportunity.

Casey nearly wrenched the front door off its hinges in his hurry to get outside the house, and right before Casey stepped through the door, Chuck yelled out, "Hey, Casey…"

# # # # #

He had initially planned to ride back to Los Angeles with Casey and Bryce in the Crown Vic, but one look from Casey once he finally made it outside, led him to believe that was probably not a good idea. So he was in Carina's SUV now, Carina driving and Devon up front, Sarah sitting beside him.

For the first 15 minutes of the ride, barely anybody had spoken, and the tension was thick and unrelenting. Devon had no choice but to come back to L.A. with them and meet General Beckman and Director Graham. He would have to be officially taken into the fold now. It wouldn't necessarily be all bad, Chuck reasoned. The team could use an on-call doctor, especially one whose loyalty was practically guaranteed. Still, it didn't sit well with Chuck at all that he would have to drag Devon into his second life. Devon being involved meant Ellie was only a precarious step away.

Chuck sighed and looked from one woman to the next. He would have to deal with the both of them, and he would have to do it soon. He realized that he wasn't that angry with either of them anymore, even Sarah. His mind was a lot clearer now than when he first found out about everything, and he was able to process his anger and rationalize their actions. The fact that Sarah had been sending him furtive glances throughout the car ride had helped assuage some of his anger as well. She truly did seem remorseful.

He would deal with Sarah first.

He carefully twisted in his seat and looked at her fully. She turned to face him too and there was a very hopeful look in her eyes. God, she really was beautiful and when she smiled hesitantly at him, he almost completely forgave her right then and there.

He was still angry, yes, but he was ready to let the issue go. Keeping it in would be counterproductive to the mission and would only add unnecessary stress to the team dynamic. They would need to have a long talk, especially if she were to meet Ellie, but considering all the other stupid, bad things Sarah had done in her life, it seemed kind of ridiculous to hold this over her head for long.

He had already forgiven Carina. It was only fair he give Sarah the same shot.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and took in a deep breath. She still smelled good, and being in the confines of the car, only intensified the clean, fresh smell of her. "Do you think I could lie down?" he asked.

Sarah blinked her eyes slowly and then nodded her head enthusiastically. So he gingerly moved his body until his head was resting in her lap. Immediately, he felt a warm hand on his forehead and slender fingers running through his hair. He looked up at her and caught his breath slightly at the look in her glowing blue eyes.

"I'm really sorry," she whispered. "I guess…I wasn't thinking about what would happen if Devon found out."

Chuck couldn't stand looking in those eyes any longer. They made him want to do stuff that was not really appropriate for riding in a car. Especially a car that had other people in it. Chuck closed his eyes and did his best to relax. He was tired and Sarah was a very soft, comforting pillow. "It's okay, Sarah. We're okay."

She didn't say anything else and after only a few seconds, Chuck fell asleep.

* * *

**Next chapter:** _Goodbye to All That_ - Team Bartowski is going to undertake a radical overhaul. Roles will be reversed, hopes crushed, and promises broken. Tears, anger, and quite possibly imminent violence are all potential outcomes. Like I said, game changer.


	18. Goodbye to All That, Part One

**Author's Note**: I'm back, baby! After a month or so hiatus, I finally got around to writing Chapter 17. And boy did it turn into a whopper. Over 18,000 words! So what does that mean? Well, I like reviews so I decided to follow the advice of a certain lamb and split this chapter into three parts. Remember, this is all one chapter, just divided to make it easier to read (and inflate my review count). In many ways, it turned out exactly how I wanted it. In many ways, it didn't. But that is the nature of the beast I suppose.

I must thank the usual suspects here: **Wepdiggy** for his ideas and giving this chapter a look-see. Thanks dude, you're always a big help. Read _College Years_, people! **moo**, because I always do what she tells me to do and things usually work out better for me because of it. Also, she made this part of the chapter sooooo much better to read. And **DD**, for just being awesome all around. OH! And I can't forget **extreme-stratusfaction** for being reviewer #500! Thanks a lot, man! Here's your virtual pat on the back.

If you like Charah, I highly recommend the works of the talented **Mikki13**. Please read her. She likes writing Charah in...compromising situations. This is to be encouraged, so go encourage her!

And last but not least, vote in my new poll! It's about which couple or pairing you like most from DA. I'm curious to see what gets the most votes and if Chuck/Carina is as popular as I think it is.

* * *

For the first time that he could ever remember, Chuck was thinking about why there was no elevator in Castle.

There wasn't an elevator, was there? He supposed it was possible there was an elevator squirreled away somewhere within the bowels of the facility and Casey had never mentioned it because he found it perversely amusing to see Chuck trudge up and down the stairs in his current condition. But surely if there was an elevator somewhere, he would have noticed it after all the years he had spent in Castle, right? He knew he could be oblivious at times, but an elevator was hard to miss.

Trying to move down the stairs into Castle proper was like a modern rendition of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. He couldn't move too fast lest he tear out his stitches and he couldn't move too slowly or else Casey and Bryce were going to complain. He knew how impatient they were to get General Beckman online so they could explain everything to her.

As always he tried to find a middle ground, only there was none and what resulted was a slow, arduous descent.

He was moving as best he could but he was lagging far behind. Neither Carina nor Sarah had wanted to leave his side, hovering around him like hyper-concerned mother hens—and he had thought Ellie was bad—but Devon had assured them that he would look after Chuck, and so the two women had gone ahead with Casey and Bryce to prepare things for the eventual meeting with Beckman.

He knew the others would be waiting for him at the conference table to start and so he hurried. He'd already been bitched at once by Bryce and growled at twice by Casey. Only Carina frigid glare had kept the two men from complaining even more.

It was ridiculous to think everything was actually explainable anyway. Chuck still had no idea why Beckman had ordered Commander Chase to let Fulcrum into the facility, so he was unsure why they were even debriefing with her to begin with. He thought if anything, they should be talking things over with Director Graham until Beckman's loyalties could be verified. But Casey had told him while they were passing through security that Beckman was who they were talking to and disappeared before Chuck could interrogate him further.

Chuck wasn't even completely confident on the details of his escape and Carina's aborted attempt to take him off the grid. He wasn't sure what Beckman hoped to achieve with this meeting. Wasn't the fact that he had been safely recovered enough?

How was he going to explain anything?

And why the hell wasn't there an elevator?

He snorted and then winced as he temporarily lost his balance, causing him to wrench his wounded side. The drugs had almost completely worn off, and every breath was like a knife stabbing into his side, every movement a punch to the gut. He honestly had no idea how he had made it this long without collapsing into the fetal position, moaning in pain. It's what he _wanted_ to do, but he refused to succumb to the pain. He would never hear the end of it from Casey if he did and he was rather proud of himself for doing a fair imitation of Casey's stoic, unflappable warrior persona.

In order to cope with the pain, Chuck let his mind drift with inane thoughts…like wondering how the NSA and CIA had even gotten some of the equipment down into the facility without the use of at least a freight elevator. Not having an elevator was a serious design flaw in the basic Castle design. He looked around at the cavernous room as he continued walking and shook his head. It just didn't make sense.

He finally reached the bottom step and stepped out onto the dark concrete floor of the facility. He let out a relieved sigh and opened his eyes. Tentatively, he ran his tongue along his teeth to make sure everything was okay. He had been biting down so hard on the trip down he had been worried about chipping a tooth. Fortunately, everything appeared all right and he wouldn't have to make a visit to Dr. Holcomb soon.

He was more than a little surprised to find the main conference room empty and nobody sitting around the big oval table.

Devon was trailing behind him with his medical bag and an armful of other supplies that Casey had foisted on him. Devon had wanted to help him down the stairs, but Casey had insisted he carry his own weight. So Devon did the best he could by occasionally juggling the stuff in his arms long enough to stick out a stabilizing hand. Chuck had assured Devon that he could make it down on his own. Once they were both on the ground floor, Devon put his stuff off to the side and placed a comforting arm across Chuck's shoulders and assisted him to the nearest chair. Chuck murmured his gratitude to Devon as they hobbled together like one large symbiotic mass of moaning, flailing limbs.

Castle itself was a hive of whirling, confusing activity. Castle was being broken down, taken apart, and being prepared to be shipped to its new location. Chuck had been very upset when Casey informed him that their entire operation would be moving. It wasn't that he had much connection to the facility itself. No, that he didn't care about. But up above? Up above was his company. _His _company.

Well, part of his company. The building Castle currently resided under was also the high security off-site data storage facility used by his company to store much of their highly sensitive and classified information. It was a convenient front, as it allowed the building to be secured by undercover NSA and CIA personnel. But it was still his. It was his name on the lease, it was his company that had paid for it, and it was his employees that worked there. And the government was now making him relocate everything all because their Castle facility was no longer secure.

And whose fault was that? Diane Beckman's, of course. It galled him that he was going to have to play nice with her in the upcoming few hours, especially after she had done her level best to turn his life upside down.

He watched as four very large men, exchanging heated words and grunts of exertion, started to move a heavy piece of equipment up the stairs now that he was no longer in the way. He snorted at the sight and then rolled his eyes. Now if there had been an elevator…

"Chuck?"

Chuck's attention snapped into focus on Devon, who was sitting next to him. "Hmm?"

"I really wish you would at least let me give you a shot of Demerol," Devon said. His voice clearly sounded concerned and it caused Chuck to smile.

He reached out and placed a hand on Devon's shoulder and gave it a quick, brotherly squeeze. "You have no idea how much I wish you could, but I don't think the General would appreciate me being high right now."

Devon grumbled, "If Ellie knew what I was letting you get away with, she'd kill me."

Chuck said with the slightest hint of a threat in his voice and a persuasive squeeze of Devon's shoulders, "Well, Ellie is never going to find out, isn't that right, Devon?"

Devon nodded his head enthusiastically, his eyes wide and flitting about the room like a hummingbird. It was like every time Devon saw some new aspect of his spy life, he could never decide just what to concentrate on. "Of course, right, everybody has made it very clear to me that Ellie is never to know."

"Devon, I know how hard it is to keep something like this from my sister. And I know that you never volunteered, you were dragged into it only because you wanted to help me, and I'm so sorry you're here, but we have to keep it quiet to keep Ellie safe. You understand that, right?"

"Yes, of course, I would do anything for Ellie," Devon said with a smile. "And you're family, Chuck, you're my brother. I don't regret anything." He looked around the room, his eyes still wide, and he leaned close to Chuck and whispered, "Besides, this whole place is awesome. You being a spy is awesome. Everything is _awesome_!"

Chuck chuckled quietly in affectionate exasperation and gave Devon's shoulder one last—friendly—squeeze before he settled both hands on the conference table.

They were still currently alone, which was really starting to confuse him. The others should have already been waiting for him. Wasn't that why Casey had given him so much crap for taking his time? He had walked far faster than he needed to just so he could meet Casey's timetable.

Chuck spun around carefully in his chair and motioned with his hand for one of the CIA's DST operatives wandering around to come closer. When the man walked over, Chuck smiled apologetically up at him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but you wouldn't happen to know where the rest of my team is, would you?"

The man looked slightly uncomfortable to be spoken to directly which was something that Chuck didn't understand at all. "Sorry, Mr. Carmichael, but I have no idea," he said with a shake of his head.

Chuck sighed and ran his hand through his dirty, flat hair. He really needed a shower. He nodded his head and smiled at the man, hoping he would relax. "Hmm…thank you for your help."

"Of course, sir, of course," the man said eagerly. "Your meeting with General Beckman is scheduled for 0800, sir."

Chuck looked at his watch and decided that a slow, painful death was too good for John Casey. The meeting was still 30 minutes away. The anger must have shown on his face because the DST man paled and began to fidget in place. He clearly wanted to get as far away from Chuck as he could.

"Um…if you don't mind, sir, I still have some…work I need to do."

Chuck sighed again at the man's nervousness and fear and simply nodded his head. The DST man scurried away so fast he practically flew over the floor. Chuck shook his head and muttered under his breath, "I'll never get used to that."

He almost groaned out loud when he saw the way Devon was looking at him. He felt compelled to say something, anything, so that Devon didn't get the wrong idea. "Carmichael is my…cover."

"That guy looked afraid of you."

"Carmichael has a much undeserved reputation," Chuck said haltingly and shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Where is everybody?"

He didn't want to talk about Carmichael anymore.

* * *

Sarah began to button up her blouse and sighed in pleasure at the way it just…fit. She debated—only briefly—about how many buttons to leave undone, but decided that as much fun as it might be to catch Chuck's eye, she needed to put on as professional a persona as she could for the time being and so buttoned all but the last button. She wanted to at least give off the impression that she cared about being a real spy once again. That Chuck's superiors could trust her to do the job as best she could, like she could be the CIA's young rising star once again. She smoothed down her knee-length skirt and slipped on a pair of three-inch black heels.

She couldn't believe it when she had been told that they had raided her hotel room and carted everything away. Fortunately, that meant she finally had access to her own wardrobe after all these long months. It was the little things that made life worth living, and wearing her own clothes definitely qualified.

This Castle facility that the CIA provided for Chuck's team really was amazing. She had been awed at the size and scope of it when Carina had taken her on a brief tour. It had several small dormitory suites, each with a bathroom equipped with shower. There were prisoner cells, the most advanced surveillance and monitoring equipment she'd ever seen for a facility of its size, a fully equipped armory and shooting range, a main conference room, and two small offices for when private conferences were required.

As much as she hated the CIA, she could admit they knew how to operate in style. She had never had anything like this during her time with Fulcrum, and she couldn't help the small feeling of envy she felt as she walked through the facility. When Carina had taken her to one of the dormitory rooms and told her she would have time to shower and dress into her old clothes, she could have kissed the red head.

She had taken a shower then, with warm water this time. She had shaved her legs and washed her hair. She had put on underwear for the first time in weeks. She got to brush her hair and teeth, put on a little makeup, and even took a few seconds to give herself an impromptu manicure. She had lost too much weight for her clothes to truly fit, but she couldn't help the feeling of completeness she had now that she was wearing clothes from her own closet. It may have been cliché, but she truly did feel like a new woman.

"Thank you," she said to Carina, who had been keeping an intermittent eye on her through much of the whole process. At least this time, Carina hadn't watched her strip or stared at her while in the shower, although knowing Carina, she had probably wanted to.

"Thought you might want to look like a human being when you face the Wicked Witch," Carina said drolly.

"Since when do you care about stuff like that?" She ran her fingers through her hair twice and looked at herself in the mirror. She was confident that Chuck wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of her when he saw her and that thought put a smile on her face.

"Don't," Carina said indifferently. "But I got orders."

Sarah turned around to look at Carina with skepticism. "Oh really?"

"Chuck," was all Carina said.

Sarah looked at Carina in confusion. "When did he talk to you about this?"

"He didn't," Carina said with a shrug of her shoulders. The red head looked confident, almost smug, like she knew something that Sarah didn't. "You see, Blondie, when you know a person as well as I know Chuck, you don't have to talk. I saw it in his eyes."

Sarah rolled her eyes and slipped on the smart suit jacket that completed her ensemble. "Right, I'm sure Chuck was thinking about making sure I got a shower and a chance to put on my own clothes while he was hobbling out of the car."

"Clearly you don't know Chuck as well as you think you do," Carina said scornfully.

"I know him well enough," Sarah said stubbornly. It was true that she didn't know Chuck like Carina did, but she liked to think she learned something new about him every day. And as nice and giving and caring as Chuck was, Sarah found it hard to believe that Carina was able to interpret Chuck's intentions just from looking into his eyes. She didn't doubt that Chuck might have wanted her to get back a little bit of her humanity and dignity, but it was far more logical that Carina had wanted to do her this kindness and simply couldn't admit to treating her like an actual person for once. Why Carina would want to, she had no idea. She didn't think Carina was warming up to her, and even if she was, she had no desire for the red head to suddenly become her friend.

Carina leaned against the door frame and smirked at her, like usual, and then tossed her something. She caught it reflexively and was surprised to see that Carina had thrown her a holster. "Here, you're going to need this," Carina said.

Sarah stared at the holster in her hand and then looked up at Carina in surprise. "You're giving me a gun?" She undid her jacket and pulled it off, placing it over the back of the chair next to her. She quickly settled the holster in place and was surprised to find how well it molded to her body. With her jacket on, it was unlikely anything short of a close inspection would pick up the slight bulge along her hip.

Carina held up what looked like a Sig Sauer P229 as well as three magazines. She placed them on the small vanity table in the room. "Make me two promises and it's yours."

"Okay," Sarah said. She stared longingly at the weapon. It wasn't her preferred handgun, that was a Smith & Wesson 5906, but the P229 was compact and sturdy. It would do until she got herself a replacement weapon.

"First, you must promise not to shoot Casey. He's an annoying asshole most of the time, but he's still my partner and a member of the team."

Sarah frowned and pursed her lips like she had just bitten into a lemon, but she nodded her head stiffly. "What about Larkin?"

Carina snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't give a shit what you do to him."

That caused Sarah to grin and Carina smiled back in response. "And the second?"

"Chuck always comes first," Carina said seriously, and her eyes never wavered from staring directly at her. "Always, no matter what."

That promise didn't even require serious thought and she agreed to it immediately, "Of course."

Carina just nodded her head and Sarah quickly walked over to the vanity and picked up the P229. She ejected the magazine already loaded, looked at it with a careful eye, then pushed it back in. She made sure the safety was correctly selected and then placed the P229 into her holster. She took the extra three magazines and placed them in the proper location on her opposite hip. She put her jacket back on and looked at herself in the mirror. The holster and gun was barely noticeable. Her slightly looser clothing was an asset here.

"Gotta admit, Blondie, you look good," Carina said.

Sarah couldn't help herself and asked, "You think Chuck will notice?" She grinned when she got the reaction she'd hoped.

Carina scowled at her and turned around to walk stiffly out of the room.

"Come on, Walker, time to face the Wicked Witch."

* * *

Chuck glared as Casey and Bryce settled into seats around the conference table. "You're an ass, Casey."

Casey merely grinned back at him and said, "Maybe next time you won't be so annoying." Casey paused for a second and then added, "Hey, Chuck…"

Chuck rolled his eyes but couldn't help chuckling a bit. "Okay, maybe I deserved that, but I wish you had let me know what the right time for the meeting was. I could have maybe showered."

"Smelling like a gym bag is a good thing, Bartowski. It means Walker will be more likely to control herself around you and I won't have to worry about my breakfast coming back up."

"Hardy-har-har, Casey," Chuck said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, which unfortunately, was not much. Sarcasm required more effort than he was prepared to expend at the moment. "Sarah is a professional. She doesn't need you or anybody else questioning her professionalism…because there's nothing to question."

"Thank you, Chuck," a warm, lilting voice said from behind him.

He felt his cheeks heat a bit at Sarah overhearing him defend her, and craned his head back so that he could get a good look at her. He hadn't seen her since they had left Carina's Explorer and he wanted to make sure she was okay. He still couldn't help getting a little nervous whenever Carina and Sarah were alone together. There was no telling what the two female alphas would get into when left to their own devices.

When his eyes finally found Sarah, to say he was impressed would have been an understatement. She looked…beautiful.

Chuck did not consider himself an articulate man. Not normally at least. He had his moments of brilliance, but it was only usually in the heat of the moment and those moments came and went as rapidly as the nervous beating inside his chest. Normally a level-headed man, he could keep his calm and rationalize any problem the CIA and NSA wanted to throw at him but this was not a place where logic and rationality presided.

Sarah Walker, Chuck was starting to learn, had that affect on men.

It wasn't Sarah's choice of clothing or her make-up (both of which were perfectly adequate) but rather her presence that caught his eye.

Okay, so maybe the way her blouse tightened across her chest, or the way her skirt hugged her hips, or the way her hair seemed to reflect the light like a mirror, helped, but mostly it was just her eyes and her smile and just _her_.

It was the confidence and poise she seemed to now exude with every step, the lightness in her startling blue eyes, the perfect flow of her hair, the subtly seductive move of her hips. She was complete, whole, her own person again. It was a startling transformation, and he was grateful Carina had done what he hoped she would. It was clear just by looking at her that Sarah was now _The_ Sarah Walker again: Infamous, seductive, and dangerously beautiful.

Chuck didn't think she had ever been more attractive than she was now. Perhaps he was finally seeing the woman he had heard so much about.

Sarah was smiling at him now, like she knew something that he didn't and he realized belatedly that he had probably been staring at her for far longer than normal or polite. He tore his eyes away from her and turned his head back to the table, blushing like mad, when he caught Casey's eye.

Casey smirked and said, "Real smooth there, Don Juan."

He was so embarrassed he couldn't even come up with a comeback. Carina's glare, as she sat down to his left, only intensified his mortification at acting like a slack-jawed idiot. He was better than that. But wow, Sarah…he couldn't help but try to sneak more looks at her with his peripheral vision. He just hoped he wasn't as obvious about it as he feared. He liked to think he'd picked up enough observational skills over the years to be able to surreptitiously glance at Sarah without anybody noticing, but from the way Casey was still smirking at him, he was probably wrong about that.

Sarah apparently felt like torturing him, as she asked Devon if he would mind moving so that she could sit beside him. He caught Sarah smirking at Carina over his shoulder right before she sat down in Devon's hastily relinquished seat. Now Sarah was sitting to his right, which alone made it hard to concentrate, and Carina was sitting to his left and he was too afraid to turn his head and see how she was taking the new seating arrangement. Why couldn't his life be simple?

And why did Sarah have to smell so good?

He really needed Beckman to start the debriefing now, before he made a fool of himself again.

Fortunately, Beckman chose that moment to activate the large video monitor to Chuck's slight right. The General began without preamble, "Good morning, everyone." Her eyes locked directly on him and he could have sworn he saw relief flash briefly in her eyes, but whatever emotion had been there was quickly replaced by her normal elusiveness. "And an especially good morning to you, Mr. Bartowski. I trust you are doing well?"

Chuck was a little taken aback by being directly addressed. Usually Beckman ignored him during their briefings, only talking to him when she deemed it absolutely necessary. It had always been Director Graham who deigned to talk to him as if he were a normal, actual human being and not simply a tool to be exploited. "Uh yes, ma'am, I'm doing fine. In a bit of pain, but I'm managing." He paused, swallowed carefully, and said lamely, "Thank you for asking."

"And your operational effectiveness, it is still high?" Like usual, Beckman completely ignored any of his attempts to engage her on a human-to-human basis. It was always straight to business with her.

Carina answered before he could, "Unknown, ma'am. There has been no opportunity to test, but I see no reason why he shouldn't still be effective."

Casey grunted and added, "I concur. As far as Dr. Woodcomb could determine, Bartowski only suffered a single gunshot wound to the lower left abdomen. And other than a few bruised ribs, some bruising across the face, and a moderate case of dehydration, there was no other trauma."

Beckman looked down, off the screen, and the sound of paper rustling could be heard. "Ah yes, Dr. Woodcomb. Would somebody care to explain why I am reviewing a report composed by Dr. Woodcomb in the first place?" Beckman's tone was conversational, perfectly civil, but it was clear to Chuck that she was furious.

"That is my fault, ma'am. I enlisted Dr. Woodcomb's assistance when it became apparent that Chuck needed immediate medical attention," Carina said in a flat tone.

The sound of Beckman's fingers tapping along the top of her desk carried over the speakers and into the conference room. Chuck found himself tapping the same rhythm atop the table alongside her. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped.

"An unnecessary risk, Agent Hansen. You knowingly involved a civilian, one without clearance, in direct violation of operational security when you could have easily taken Mr. Bartowski to one of any previously screened medical facilities."

"It was my judgment at the time that Chuck's safety in any public or government facility could not be assured," Carina said. Chuck covertly tried to look at Carina. He didn't want to put her even more on the spot by staring at her, but he couldn't help being concerned. So far the meeting really wasn't going that well.

"Please remind me, Agent Hansen, when I started paying you to think," Beckman said coldly. Carina said nothing, obviously determining that Beckman's statement had been rhetorical.

The room was silent for several seconds as Beckman peered closely at all of them. Finally, Beckman broke the silence, "Dr. Woodcomb, you will need to sign a standard non-disclosure agreement. You understand that once you do, any mention of the last 48 hours to anyone, including your girlfriend, will result in your immediate imprisonment for the rest of your natural life."

Chuck couldn't help the pain that filled his chest at the paling of Devon's face or the way his potential future brother-in-law seemed to shrink into a lesser version of himself. It took quite a bit to shake Captain Awesome's confidence, but Chuck figured, if anybody could do it, it was Diane Beckman.

"Um…yes…uh…I understand," Devon stuttered.

Beckman nodded her head once and looked at somebody clearly behind them. Chuck turned around in his seat to see who she might be looking at and saw a rather short man, in a crisp charcoal suit, with wire-rimmed glasses. In his hand was a briefcase and he stood perfectly straight. "Dr. Woodcomb, please go with Mr. Archer. He will explain the circumstances of your new consultant position, as well as go over the terms of your non-disclosure agreement."

It was as clear a dismissal as Beckman ever gave, and Devon was, thankfully, perceptive enough to pick up on the fact. He immediately turned questioning blue eyes to Chuck, who nodded his head that it was okay. He smiled confidently at Devon, determined to put on as brave a front as he could. It was important that Devon not pick up on his trepidation or worry. It was just an NDA; they had all had to sign one at one point. Of course, due to the nature of his position, Chuck's had been a single sheet of paper, Devon's would likely be several as it was undoubtedly less restrictive.

Devon got up from the table then and left with Mr. Archer, climbing back up the hated stairs. Chuck watched him go the whole way, wanting to make sure that Devon was okay. When the two men finally disappeared from sight, Chuck turned back to find Beckman's cold, angry eyes staring at everybody present.

Beckman continued on, if it was possible, her tone considerably less cordial than it had been before, "This entire operation has been nothing short of an unmitigated failure. Seven agents dead, one unaccounted for, the exposure of the project to potential liabilities by involving a civilian, a CIA detention and interrogation facility destroyed, and Castle compromised. And for what?" Beckman asked in disgust. "A potentially rogue Fulcrum agent with dubious ties to their upper echelon that you have been trying to turn for weeks with little success."

"General, where is Director Graham?" Chuck couldn't believe that he had interrupted Beckman in the middle of one of her infamous rants, but he wasn't going to sit back and let his team get berated for something that wasn't their fault. He especially wasn't going to let Beckman attack Sarah. It had taken a lot of freaking work to get Sarah to open up to him and entertain the idea of working for the good guys again, the last thing he needed was Beckman destroying all that good will with a few inconsiderate and ill-advised words.

Bringing up her counterpart's very noticeable absence was the only thing he could think of that might cause the diminutive woman to pause, and he had been right.

Beckman froze, her tirade stopped mid-breath, and she fixed Chuck with cold, unfeeling eyes. "Mr. Bartowski, Agent Hansen, I need to speak to you in private. Please have this call transferred to one of the offices immediately."

Beckman disappeared then, leaving the conference room in shock.

* * *

**What can you expect in Part Two**: We find out why Beckman wants to talk to Chuck and Carina in private, we find out just why Fulcrum attacked the CIA base, we find out some info about Alex Forrest that throws Casey for a loop, and a bunch of other fun stuff. Will update post Turkey Day if response is good.


	19. Goodbye to All That, Part Two

**Author's Note**: Wow guys, thanks for all the reviews! Best reviewed chapter yet. I dare you all to top it. Maybe I should take a month long hiatus between updates more often, it really brings people out of the woodwork when I update. Heh. Speaking of which, it seemed like you guys really liked the first part of this three part epic. Hopefully you like Part Two just as much. I can't promise it's as good as Empire, but it's certainly better than Attack of the Clones. :-P

Usual thanks go out to **Wepdiggy** and **moo**. Wep gave me some good advice about one scene in particular in this part. I tried my best to follow it, but I'm not sure I did all that good a job. Y'all should read _College Years_, it's great. moo...was moo. I'm sorry for the teasing! Review _Second Chance_ if you can.

Unsurprisingly, Chuck/Sarah is so far kicking ass in my poll. But I was pleasantly surprised to see 6 votes for Chuck/Carina, which was awesome. That's about what I was expecting. Now I don't know which two of you readers voted for mxpw/Carina/Sarah, but whoever you are, you are clearly highly intelligent and of very discerning taste. I like you.

Oh yeah, I can't forget, read **Mikki13**. Read her. Then review her. Then read her again. Thanks.

* * *

"I'm hungry, so I think I'm going to get something to eat," Larkin said into the silent room. The words hung over the room like a shroud. Nobody moved or said a thing. Larkin sighed loudly and pushed slowly away from the table until he was standing. "Right. Well, I feel like pizza so that's what I'm getting."

Chuck and Carina had already left five minutes ago to have their private meeting with General Beckman. She knew that she should be curious about what was going on in the other room, but she honestly didn't care. She had only agreed to work with Chuck and the others against Fulcrum because it meant spending more time with Chuck. Everything else was irrelevant to her at this point in the game. She certainly didn't care about helping the CIA fight Fulcrum.

Now with Larkin leaving, that meant she was alone with John Casey for the first time since their interrogation sessions. Sarah simply stared at him, the man implacable and impossible to read. His face was living stone, reminding her of the _moai_ statues from Easter Island.

Casey stared back.

They stared at each other.

She clenched her fists underneath the table. With every second that passed, she had to resist the temptation to reach inside her jacket and pull out her P229. She could put two in his chest and one in his head before he even knew what she was doing. She could always tell Chuck it was self-defense, that Casey had threatened her, that he had tried to attack her. She knew the excuse wouldn't really pass muster, that she would be breaking her promise to Carina—not that that meant much, as a spy her word already meant little—and that Chuck would be furious with her, but it would be so damn satisfying. Maybe she could just dislocate his shoulder, like he had hers? Or maybe hang him from a meat hook? Anything would be better than sitting quietly in a room with him, acting like they didn't want to just tear each other apart.

After several seconds of staring at each other, the only sounds in the underground room were the sound of whirring computers, shifting foundations, the random background noise of the workers breaking down Castle, and their breathing. Finally, Casey broke their wordless stalemate when he stood and walked into a separate room away from the main conference area. She watched him walk away and disappear into the other room. She was tempted to follow him.

She certainly didn't trust the man and it was bad enough being forced to share a room with him. If she couldn't watch what he was doing at all times, this…playing nice was not going to work at all.

Fortunately, Casey came walking back into the conference room, a small bundle under one of his bulky arms. He sat back down in his chair and placed the bundle atop the table. When he unraveled the bundle, she stiffened. It was a gun cleaning kit. From somewhere, Casey produced two handguns and placed them onto the table as well.

So maybe he hadn't been as unarmed as she thought…she was still confident she could kill him before he knew what she was doing.

One of the handguns was a Sig Sauer P228 and he began to disassemble it immediately. Once apart, he meticulously began to clean. His concentration appeared wholly on the gun parts in his paws, so she was surprised when he actually spoke.

"It's my job to protect Chuck," Casey said. His voice was low and steady, but there was a clear, unstated coda to his words: _especially from people like you_.

"So?" she asked. She couldn't help the petulance that leaked into her tone. She didn't want to talk to Casey at all, let alone about Chuck.

"So you should know that I strongly disagree with him on whatever it is you two have got going on between you. If it were up to me, you'd never get within 100 feet of Chuck."

"Good thing it's not up to you then," Sarah said.

Casey grunted and pushed a tiny brush into the barrel of the P228. "Your leash will be short." He paused, probably to let the words sink in. "And I mean _short_."

"I would never hurt Chuck," she said emphatically.

"That's what you say now but we both know how quickly things can change." Casey seemed satisfied with his ministrations as his deft hands quickly reassembled the P228 into a coherent, operational whole. "You will make mistakes. This is inevitable so don't bother denying it. Unfortunately for you, every mistake could be your last. It may not be fair, but then, it's still better than you deserve. The second you become a problem, you're gone. The second you begin to affect operational efficiency, you're gone. And God help you if you hurt Bartowski. If you do, pray I find you before Carina does. At least with me, I'll do my best to make it quick."

"Why are you telling me this?" Sarah asked.

"Because the kid's hung up on you so I gotta make do."

"Look, I know you won't believe me, but I've got no reason to hurt Chuck." She looked down at the table and said quietly, "He is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"You'll excuse me if I don't trust the word of a murderer and a traitor," Casey said sardonically.

"I'm sorry about your friend, but maybe you didn't know her as well as you think you did."

"I would recommend very strongly that you shut up," Casey said. He loaded a full magazine into the P228 and chambered a round. The sound of the round sliding into place echoed throughout the main conference area, causing the skin of Sarah's neck to break out with Goosebumps. He placed the loaded gun onto the table, the barrel pointed in her direction. His massive hand rested just beside the gun and she knew it would only take him a second to grab the gun, aim it at her, and pull the trigger.

"She was dirty," Sarah said simply. But her words were not simple and the affect they had on Casey was obvious.

"What did you say?" he asked with low growl.

"I said she was dirty. It took me a while to remember her, but I did. And she was dirty, a double." Casey looked like he was barely holding himself together and she said scornfully, "Why the hell do you think I was meeting with her in the first place? She was one of my Agency contacts."

Casey seemed dazed, shocked, unable to process what she was saying. She almost felt bad for him, having his world turned upside down in such a way. His fondness for his former blonde partner was obvious and it had been his primary motivation during their interrogation sessions. Now she was taking that motivation away. It thrilled her. If she couldn't actually fight him, she could at least do this.

Casey's focus was on the gun that was now firmly in his hand, and it didn't escape her notice at all that the gun was pointed in her direction. "One of?" he managed to choke out, his eyes narrowed at her.

"Yes," Sarah said and then shrugged. She did her best to look unconcerned; she couldn't show him fear. "I had several. She was one of them. If it makes you feel better, she was new. The night I killed her was our first meeting." Maybe it wasn't the smartest idea to be so flippant right now, but Sarah had no intention of coddling Casey, even if it meant self-preservation.

"Forrest was not a double agent," Casey said adamantly.

"She was," Sarah insisted. "And she tried to double cross me so I took care of her. It wasn't personal, Casey, it was just business."

"How do you know it was a double cross? Maybe she just tried to lure you into a trap."

"I knew it was a double cross when she tried to steal the money from me without giving me the information she promised."

"You're saying she turned for _money_?" The shock was clearly apparent on Casey's face. He had probably assumed his friend was beyond such petty concerns as money, but in her experience, true believers were far and few between. Casey was one of them, which she knew from their first meeting, but one only had to look at Carina or Chuck to see the contrast between the team and how they approached the job.

"Well, she turned down the offer I normally make to entice an agent to cross, so yeah, money seemed to be what she was after."

Casey snorted in obvious contempt and sneered, "Spread your legs often, huh?"

She bristled at the insinuation but she didn't need to explain herself to him. She had done what she did to survive and she wasn't going to apologize to Casey for that. "I did what was necessary to ensure the cooperation of my marks and assets." She shrugged self-consciously, and despite her determination not to let Casey's judgment get to her, she blushed in embarrassment. She said a bit defensively, "It made the job easier. You might be surprised at how quickly someone will give up classified information when you promise a little sex."

She quickly added, worried about how her words sounded, "Not that I still do that anymore. My position within Fulcrum eventually afforded me the opportunity to pass those kind of missions onto somebody else."

"Relax, Walker. If you think Chuck doesn't already know how easy you are, then you're dumber than you look," Casey said with actual amusement in his voice.

Sarah scowled and then said without thinking, "If Chuck knows how easy I am then why the hell hasn't he tried to have sex with me yet?"

"Oh God…" Casey groaned pitifully and covered his face with one of his large palms. "I have no idea nor do I ever want to know or even ever think of Bartowski's scrawny ass getting laid." Casey shuddered and placed the loaded Sig Sauer back onto the table.

"But he does like women, right? I mean, he certainly kisses like he does, but he's so hard to read sometimes…" She didn't know why she was asking Casey these questions, although Casey's current freak-out was certainly amusing.

"Do I really look like the kind of person that would be interested in Chuck's sexual habits? Look, if you want information, talk to Carina. She'll talk your ear off for hours about how much Chuck likes women," Casey said with a wince.

Sarah glared at Casey and suddenly her desire to strangle the man came roaring back inside of her. He just had to go and bring up the one thing that she was most afraid of: that Chuck would realize that he already had a woman that was crazy about him, one that wasn't screwed up—at least not as bad as her—a criminal, and an emotional incompetent. He'd already had Carina, he knew what the red head had to offer, and any day he could wake up and realize that's what he'd wanted all along. It wasn't too far-fetched really. All he had to do was ask the question of why would he want to deal with the crazy, difficult blonde, when he could have the relatively uncomplicated and passionate red head?

She was just about to snap some kind of comeback that would probably enrage Casey into picking back up his gun when he interrupted her musings with a question, "How did you even turn Forrest? She was deep cover, and most of her file was redacted."

Sarah blinked at the abrupt change of topic, but she should have known better. Casey wasn't interested in listening to her bitch about her romantic issues. He wasn't interested in her jealousy over Carina. He had a one-track mind, and right now, it was still on Alex Forrest. "We met through a mutual acquaintance."

"Who?" Casey asked, eyes cold and voice flat.

"NCS Deputy Director Owen Davian," she said. She felt no compunction against divulging her contact. She had never liked Davian much, always touching her and trying to get her into bed. She had fucked him a few times, to secure his cooperation, and he never let her forget how much he always enjoyed the experience and wouldn't mind a repeat performance. He would identify agents for her with dubious service records and flexible moralities. Even though the man had helped her personally recruit almost 10 different agents into Fulcrum's ranks, he literally meant less to her than the lint on her jacket.

Casey's eyes narrowed, he was clearly familiar with the man, and she could hear the grinding of Casey's jaw as he digested her words. If Casey wanted to kill Davian, she'd gladly assist him with whatever information he might need.

Finally, Casey asked, "Davian is Fulcrum?"

Sarah chuckled and said a bit proudly, "Davian was whatever I wanted him to be."

"Despite myself, I can't help being a little impressed."

"Seduction was my specialty."

Casey grunted and placed a Smith and Wesson 5906 on the table. To Sarah's surprise, Casey pushed the pistol across the table toward her. "I stupidly promised Chuck a gun if he ever successfully shot somebody without killing himself in the process. What do you think?"

Sarah gingerly picked up the pistol from the table, the cool metal resting familiar in her hand. She was inordinately fond of the 5906 as it had been her personal weapon of choice for years. Even though she had the P229 secured snugly on her hip, she couldn't help the feeling of longing she felt or the desire to take this gun as her own. Of course, Casey would probably have something to say about that, and fighting with him over a gun would just be stupid. "Good choice. Nice balance, safer than most and decent stopping power. Why are you asking me?"

"I thought you'd like to have some input on what your boy toy is going to be carrying."

"Chuck doesn't even like guns."

"I think it's good for Bartowski to have a personal weapon. The more time he spends around them, the less irresponsible he'll be when he has to use it."

"Uh-huh." She slid the gun back across the table.

Casey began to disassemble and clean the 5906. "So tell me more about the night you killed Forrest."

* * *

Chuck settled behind the small oak desk and Carina took up position behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder. He pressed a few keys on the keyboard in front of him and General Beckman's face coalesced on the video monitor hanging on the wall in front of them.

"General, what's going on? Why did you need to speak to us privately?" Chuck asked as soon as Beckman appeared.

"Because what I have to say is for your ears only," Beckman said. "Our current arrangement is no longer tenable due to events over the last 48 hours."

"What's happened?" Carina asked.

"It is our belief that Director Graham is a traitor and currently a rogue operative."

"_What?_"

Beckman leaned forward slightly and her face loomed even larger on the video monitor. "The attack on the detention facility was a sting operation," Beckman said and Chuck slumped back into his chair in surprise. "Commander Chase was to pose as a double agent, relay information about the facility to Fulcrum, and then allow them into the base. The belief was that Fulcrum would raid the facility, dump our servers, and then eventually relay certain planted information back to Graham. When that happened, there would be enough evidence to justify his arrest and Graham would have been taken into custody. Walker was never supposed to be the intended target."

"The entire thing was a setup?" Chuck asked in complete disbelief. All those agents, people he knew and worked with, had died because Beckman had tried to setup Graham? And the plan hadn't even worked…

"That was the initial plan, yes, but as you are no doubt aware, things did not go as planned."

"Chase really was a double."

Beckman sighed and nodded her head. "Triple actually, it would seem. With your report and recently discovered data, we don't believe Chase was ever truly involved with Fulcrum. He used them as a diversion only, for his aborted attempt to smuggle you out of the facility and into the hands of those he really worked for."

Chuck peered at the way the General was sitting and the way her eyes would not look at either him or Carina, but fixed steadily on a point off-screen they could not see, and it clicked in his head what she was not telling him. If Fulcrum had not attacked the facility to release Sarah, then that meant that whoever Graham had been working for, they were more than likely _not_ Fulcrum. "You don't think Graham was Fulcrum either, do you?"

"Mr. Bartowski, sometimes I forget just how perceptive you can be," Beckman said with a small frown. "Your assumption is correct. All evidence points to Graham actually belonging to an as yet unnamed and unknown organization. We believe Chase was also a member of this group, or at least was in communication with them."

"So Sarah was never the target?"

"We don't believe that particular Fulcrum cell even knew Sarah Walker was in the facility."

"So you got shot for nothing," Carina stated with a low growl right next to his ear. Both her hands were on his shoulders now and she was squeezing very hard, her fingernails easily digging into his skin. He winced and tried to dislodge her hands without making it obvious how much pain he was in. "For nothing," Carina said again.

"Not quite, Agent Hansen," Beckman said with a faint smirk. "If not for Commander Chase's attempt to extract Mr. Bartowski, it is unlikely we would have ever made the connection between him and Graham. ECHELON picked up fragments of an unsecured cell phone call between Chase and Graham less than 45 minutes after the attack on the facility. Unfortunately, Graham ran before we could detain him."

Chuck knew why they were moving Castle now. To say he was not pleased would be an understatement. Beckman had risked everything on a plan to uncover Graham as a Fulcrum operative, and it had turned out Graham was not even Fulcrum. What a waste the whole thing was. He was going to have to relocate for that?

"This is precisely why I never wanted Castle put under CT," Chuck groused. He glared up at the General. He didn't care if it wasn't appropriate or it would get him in trouble. He was in intense pain, part of his company was being uprooted, he had been shot because of some clandestine cat-and-mouse game between intelligence agencies, and all of his friends' lives had been threatened for nothing.

"Agent Hansen, please step outside. I would like to talk to Mr. Bartowski alone," Beckman said flatly.

"Uh…" Carina said, clearly torn about what to do. Chuck craned his neck to look up at her and saw her staring at him with questioning eyes. He sighed aloud and nodded his head. She pursed her lips into a thin, tight smile and promptly walked away.

Beckman waited until the door had shut completely and the echoing sound of the latch snapping into place faded away before speaking, "Cygnus Technologies exists to facilitate our operations, Mr. Bartowski. This was explained to you when you began your consultancy. It is a front, you know this."

"You promised me legitimacy," Chuck argued. "How the hell am I going to explain this random and sudden move to my employees? What about my investors? Do you even have a new location picked out yet?"

"Mr. Bartowski," Beckman snapped. She carefully smoothed back a lock of hair that had come loose from her tightly coiled bun. She took a deep breath and looked at him steadily. "Half of your employees are _my_ employees and do not forget who provided you with the bulk of your starting capitol."

"But General –"

"Look, Chuck, it's time," Beckman said and whatever words Chuck were going to say died.

He stared up at Beckman with wide, frightened eyes.

"We both know what this is really about and it's time," Beckman reiterated.

"But with Graham rogue, the old plan is no longer viable," Chuck objected. "He knows what we intend to do."

"All the more reason to do exactly what he expects," Beckman said, with no hint of humor on her face. She was being serious.

"General, our deal…it doesn't even make sense anymore."

"Mr. Bartowski," Beckman started to say and then stopped. She actually smiled at him. Granted it wasn't much of a smile, more like what a gargoyle might look like if it tried to smile, but it was still a real smile. "Chuck, this is non-negotiable. I know you're scared and the situation with Graham doesn't exactly make this ideal, but it's time for you to do what you were always meant to do. What I've wanted you to do since the beginning."

Chuck sighed and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on the desk. He muttered, "This is going to be a disaster."

Beckman obviously ignored his comment because she said the words he had dreaded for the last five years. But he had nobody to blame but himself. As she had so aptly pointed out, this was part of the deal he had made the night Beckman and Graham had threatened to take Sarah away from him. "It's time for you to officially join the CIA, Chuck."

* * *

"So you're saying that Davian has been feeding you intel for _four_ years?" Casey asked in shock and disgust.

She nodded her head and tried to hold back a smile. She didn't like John Casey, but she could admit that the man's total disdain for Davian and other men like him were amusing to her.

"Christ, Walker, you must be a damn good lay. Either that or Davian just has really low standards, which considering the man, is not all that surprising."

She ignored the second part of Casey's statement and focused on the first only. She smirked and couldn't help flipping her hair a little bit and leaning forward so that she was closer to the man. It was always nice to have her ego appealed to, even if it wasn't the man she wanted doing the ego stroking, amongst other things… "You interested?"

Casey growled at her in distaste and looked at her like she had two heads. "God, no," he said emphatically. "Besides, I don't mess with a friend's woman. I'm not Larkin, I don't do that shit."

"You don't do what, Casey?"

Both Sarah and Casey turned to see Larkin walking down the stairs, several pizza boxes in his hands. The sight of the pizzas hit her instantly in her stomach and she suddenly found herself craving food, any food, painfully. She hadn't eaten anything substantial in more than 24 hours and she was starving. More importantly, she was tired of walking around, feeling like she was half a person. She needed to put on weight and she really needed to start hitting the gym again. She couldn't fully protect Chuck in her current condition and she didn't feel like herself. Of course, the sooner she got in shape, the more confident she'd feel about putting Carina in her place. She also couldn't deny that a part of her wanted Chuck to continue finding her attractive and that wouldn't be possible until she got her full figure back.

"I hope you brought enough for everybody," Casey warned, ignoring Larkin's question.

Larkin placed the stack of pizza boxes on the conference room table and then started to spread them out until half the table was covered in pizza. "I'm a growing boy, Casey, but even I can't eat this much on my own." He grinned cockily in her direction and Sarah had to resist the impulse to roll her eyes.

He was so obvious sometimes about what he wanted from her. And if it weren't for Chuck, she might have been tempted to take him up on his obvious offer of sex. But it would have been only a meaningless fling, one of several she'd had throughout her life, and nothing more. She didn't have much of a personal life these days beyond the occasional one-night stand, and even that had become a very infrequent occurrence over the last few years. Larkin clearly wanted to change that, but she just couldn't find it in herself to reciprocate his feelings.

And when it came right down to it, she wanted Chuck.

She opened the nearest pizza box, the smell making her stomach grumble petulantly, hoping to grab a slice and immediately start eating, not caring that she didn't have a plate or napkin or that she might end up making a mess, only to find the box was full of a pepperoni and olive pizza. Dismayed, she pushed the pizza box away and grabbed the next closest, but that too had olives on the pizza. She began to panic. She didn't even like eating food that had once _touched_ olives, so picking them off wouldn't be enough. She needed pizza that hadn't been contaminated. There were more than five pizzas on the table; one of them had to be olive-free!

This was absolute torture, worse than anything Casey had ever done to her.

When the third box proved inedible as well, she nearly started crying. She was being ridiculous. She was a grown woman and she was hungry. A person dying of hunger wouldn't pass up food just because it contained something they found utterly distasteful, and neither should she. She was fortunate that they were providing her with any food at all. She would just have to suck it up and pick off the olives.

"Here," Larkin said and pushed a pizza box toward her.

Sarah looked up at him with hopeful eyes and hurriedly opened the pizza box. Inside was a plain pepperoni pizza that was more cheese than pepperoni, and not an olive in sight. She smiled in gratitude at Larkin and hurriedly grabbed a slice. She took a large bite and shut her eyes in near orgasmic relief as she swallowed. It was not even very good pizza, the cheese kind of rubbery and the bread a bit stale, but it still tasted like the best damn pizza she'd had in months.

"I know you don't like olives, so I made sure to get you something just for you," Larkin said.

She had already consumed her first slice and was reaching for her second when she asked in awe, "How do you know I don't like olives?" She was positive she had never mentioned such a thing to anybody. Maybe she was wrong about Larkin. Maybe there was more to him than she thought if he had somehow divined her hatred of olives.

Larkin opened his mouth, then closed it, and then finally opened it again. His eyes looked conflicted, like he wasn't sure what he should say, until he finally sighed a bit and slumped his shoulders. "Chuck told me," he said in what sounded a lot like resignation.

She froze the second slice in midair and looked at Larkin in disbelief. She arched an eyebrow at him and asked, "And how the hell does Chuck know I don't like olives?"

Larkin shrugged his shoulders and stared fixedly on the open pizza box in front of him. "He's Chuck."

Sarah stared at Larkin in confusion. He said Chuck's name like that was all that needed to be said to justify Chuck's mysterious knowledge of her. Maybe it was.

"Oooooo, pizza!"

Carina came scurrying from behind her, a big smile on her face, and immediately opened one of the boxes she had passed up for being inedible. "I knew you weren't completely useless, Bryce."

"Whatever," Larkin said faintly. He glared at Carina around a mouthful of pizza.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, babe. You actually did something right for once. You should be proud!" Carina said. The red head wasn't even looking at Larkin, but concentrating intently on the slice of pizza in her hand. It was like talking to Larkin meant so little to her she couldn't even take the time away from her food to look in his direction. Sarah figured Carina had to be nearly as hungry as she was but she doubted that was the real reason for Carina's disregard.

"Fuck you, Carina," Larkin snarled.

Unsurprisingly, Carina talked with her mouth full, "We tried that once, honey," Carina said as sweetly as she could, pizza crumbs tumbling out of her mouth onto the table. "If I remember correctly, you weren't exactly up to standard." And then Carina turned to face her, winked, and said, "Certainly not like Chuck was at least."

Sarah felt her face redden in anger and embarrassment but forced herself to take a deep breath and chew her food before she choked to death.

"Carina," Casey said in his gravelly voice. "We had a deal. No talk of Bartowski's floundering while I'm eating."

Carina actually looked apologetic. "Sorry, John. I thought you'd appreciate me informing Blondie of just what she could expect if she ever did something stupid like take Bryce up on his offer."

Casey rolled his eyes but there was the faint hint of a smile on his face that he quickly masked with the pretense of wiping his mouth clean with a napkin. "Speaking of Chuck, where is he?"

"Still with her royal bitchiness. She kicked me out," Carina pouted.

"Couldn't keep your big mouth shut, huh?" Larkin asked.

"If I remember correctly," Carina said with a smirk, "there was a point in time where you liked that I didn't keep my 'big mouth shut'. Well…unless you were keeping it occupied instead."

Larkin's face reddened slightly and he stared resolutely at a point on the table only he could see.

Seeing that Larkin wasn't going to respond, Carina shrugged her shoulders and took another large bite of pizza. "Actually, dear, it wasn't my fault this time. She was mad at Chuck and wanted to talk to him in private."

Casey groaned and wiped a hand across his face. "I swear, no matter how many times I tell him not to piss her off, he never listens."

"Breathing pisses her off. Chuck didn't do anything," Carina insisted.

"You'd defend Chuck even if God himself told you Chuck did something wrong," Larkin said. He was standing now, both hands pressed firmly on the table, and leaning forward with an angry look on his face.

Carina dropped her half-eaten slice to the table and put her hands on her hips. She fixed Larkin with the nastiest glare Sarah had ever seen the red head give. She was actually surprised that Carina had yet to glare at her like that. "You shut your fucking mouth before I fucking shut it for you."

Sarah blinked in surprise at the surprisingly sudden and violent response from Carina. There was a lot more going on here than what Carina and Larkin were saying. She'd long ago picked up on the animosity between Carina and Larkin, maybe now she would get some answers.

Still, it wouldn't do to have two of her new teammates trying to kill each other, so she tried to placate them. "Whoa, guys, whoa! What the hell is going on?" Sarah asked.

"Stay out of this, Blondie," Carina snapped.

"I'm tired of your bullshit, Carina. Always 'Chuck this' and 'Chuck that'. Get it through your fucking empty head, he doesn't love you, he's never going to love you, and you're fooling yourself if you ever think he will. Chuck could never love a slut and a bitch like you anyway."

Casey pushed back his chair and stood up suddenly, his chair still sliding back until it impacted with the wall behind them. He boomed, "All of you shut up. If I have to listen to one more word of your squabbling, I'm going to shoot the lot of you."

Carina grabbed her slice of pizza from the table, spun on her heel, and stormed back the way she came, but not before Sarah saw the pain and anger and despair in her gray eyes.

Casey grunted and walked up to Larkin. He grabbed Larkin's upper arm with one of his hands and pulled Larkin close. He said quietly, but still loud enough to be heard by her, "If you ever talk to my partner like that again, there will not be enough of you left to identify." Casey then pushed Larkin sprawling into his chair and walked toward the room where he had gotten his gun kit.

Sarah watched the big man until he disappeared and then turned to Larkin with wide eyes. "What the hell just happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Larkin said tightly.

Sarah shook her head and went back to eating her pizza. These people were so weird.

* * *

"Agent Hansen has got to go," Beckman said.

Chuck's eyes bulged and he stared at Beckman in horror. He snapped forward in his chair so fast the chair back impacted his body with a hard slap. He moaned out pitifully in pain and slumped forward until his torso was lying horizontally on the desk. He could hear Beckman speaking to him but the pain blanketing his senses made understanding her words impossible. Oh God…why was he so stupid? Why couldn't he control himself better?

He gingerly brought his hands up to rest on his head and he started to take deep, even breaths in an attempt to manage the pain. After several seconds of this, the deep throbbing in his side receded enough that he could finally understand what Beckman was saying.

"I'm calling Dr. Woodcomb, Chuck. You obviously need medical attention."

"No!" he blurted out with a strangled, pain thick scream. "I'm okay," he panted. "Really, I'm okay."

He managed to lift his head high enough to see skepticism clearly displayed on Beckman's face. "Your health is of prime concern. If you're ineffective, then the Intersect is ineffective."

Chuck very carefully sat up and said through gritted teeth, "I said I'm fine. I've managed to make it this far without drugs, although clearly there must still be some in my system because I could have sworn you said that Carina had to leave and that's just crazy."

She couldn't take Carina away from him. He needed Carina. She was his best friend. She kept him grounded. She had been there for him after those…three days he'd spent as a captive of the criminal organization that had tortured Carina. There was no way he'd be able to make it as a real agent without Carina by his side, guiding him, giving him advice, and supporting him.

"I wasn't joking, Chuck," Beckman said.

"What? Why?"

"The reason should be obvious even for somebody as naïve as you."

"But she didn't do anything!"

"She took you off-grid without authorization. She violated operational security. She involved a civilian! And she killed a potentially invaluable suspect that could have provided us with who knows how much intelligence on Graham's new organization," Beckman seethed.

Chuck was on the verge of full on panic. Beckman could not take Carina away from him, he repeated to himself. He could not do this without her. Just thinking of trying to do this job without Carina by his side almost made him hyperventilate in terror and dread. It made him think of those days in that dark hole. Carina calmed him. He _needed_ her. Losing her was unacceptable.

Beckman wanted him to become more assertive and involved in the decision making process, then he would give her exactly what she wanted. "No, General. You don't get me without Carina," he said, slightly on the edge of hysteria. He had to close his eyes and picture a calm beach, just on the edge of twilight, before he could calm himself enough to trust his voice. "I'm serious."

"Mr. Bartowski," Beckman said and Chuck groaned internally at the fact that she was back to addressing him formally again. So much for viewing him as a colleague and a professional; at least it had lasted longer than he expected. "I no longer have confidence in Agent Hansen's ability to adequately protect you in the best interests of this government, and to be honest, I question her loyalty."

"Oh come off it, General, we both know where Carina's loyalty has been for a long time and it was never a problem until now."

"She never tried to take you off-grid before," Beckman snapped. She glared at him and he shrunk back away from her. Somehow, despite all the years, she could still scare the crap out of him when she put her mind to it. He didn't think he'd ever get used to her looks, especially when she was angry. It was a cognitive dissonance to see a woman so small be so overpowering.

Beckman continued speaking, this time slightly calmer and more composed, "When Graham and I granted her request for a permanent assignment, I always knew this was a possibility, but I thought we'd have more warning ahead of time. I should have listened to my instincts," Beckman said tiredly. For the first time, Chuck noticed how red her eyes looked and how exhausted she seemed. She must have been awake non-stop for the last 48 hours trying to deal with all the many problems that had fallen on her head.

"Carina's loyalty and dedication to me is a good thing, General," Chuck said insistently. He had to make Beckman understand that her questionable loyalty was actually a positive. She may have no longer been loyal to the Project, but she was certainly loyal to the Intersect. Well, as long as the Intersect resided within his head. "You know, more than anyone else, that you can trust her to keep me safe above all other things."

"Mr. Bartowski, your safety does not concern me, only the safety of the Intersect. If the time were to ever come where the Intersect must be destroyed to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands, I do not believe Agent Hansen could do what was necessary."

"You mean kill me."

"Yes."

"How is that any different from before?"

"It was Graham that pushed so strenuously for Hansen's request, and I agreed under protest. This is yet another reason to remove her from the team and reassign her somewhere very far from you."

"General, I'm telling you straight up that I won't work without Carina."

"Mr. Bartowski, we told you when you first lobbied for Walker to be added to your team what our conditions would be for making it happen. We explained to you what would have to happen if we attempted your plan. We asked that you take a more pragmatic and realistic approach to this business. You promised that you would be willing to make sacrifices when sacrifices were necessary. This is one of those times."

"She did the right thing and you know it! She was right to take me off-grid. Graham is rogue, he could have compromised any medical facility she might have taken me to," he said desperately, trying to get Beckman to see reason. This was ridiculous. He was not going to give in on this.

"All decisions have consequences, Chuck, even the right ones."

"Then I am prepared to pay them."

"All right, then you leave me no choice but to take you into custody immediately. If you are not willing to cooperate, then we have nothing more to discuss here."

Chuck gripped the desk tightly and stared hard at the General. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, searching for the inner peace inside of himself, searching for that beach at twilight. He could make this sacrifice for Carina. She had made so many for him over the years it was about time he did the same. He knew Carina didn't want to leave, he knew she loved her life, so he would do what was necessary to make sure she stayed.

"I'll give you another year," Chuck said in resignation. Somehow, he knew it would always come to this.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I'll give you another year. That's what you want. That's the whole point of this conversation, isn't it? What you've been waiting for me to say? Two years for Sarah, one for Carina. Three years total."

Beckman smiled at him even wider than when she had told him it was time for him to join the CIA. There was a glint in her eyes and Chuck's suspicion was confirmed. She had played him and he had let himself be played. Their entire conversation had been nothing more than a pretense for this moment. Beckman probably never even intended to kick Carina off the team, but that was a chance he was not willing to take. If it meant Carina would stay with him, he'd gladly give up another year of his life to Beckman and her machinations. How did he always get himself into these situations?

"Agreed, with one condition."

"And that is?" Chuck asked. He wasn't even sure he cared anymore; as there was very little he'd not agree to at this time.

"That she be removed from all operational matters immediately. That is non-negotiable, Chuck. I cannot trust her to put the mission first any longer."

"But I just gave you another year of my life, what more do you want?" Chuck pleaded. This was probably what Beckman had been angling for the whole time. She wanted him to sign over more of his life to the government and she wanted Carina away from the decision making process.

"I said that she would no longer be involved in operational matters, not that she would be off the team." Beckman paused and considered Chuck carefully. "If I miss my guess, she should be right outside, trying to listen through the door. Tell her to come in."

Chuck rolled his eyes because he knew the General was likely right. He turned toward the door and barked out, "Come in, Carina!"

The door opened tentatively at first, and when nobody said anything, his red headed partner stuck her head through the open doorway. "I wasn't listening, I swear," she said with a very fake, very innocent look on her face.

Chuck motioned with his hand for her to come into the room and Carina hurriedly stepped inside and shut the door behind her. She shuffled her feet and slowly moved over to stand by Chuck, her head down. Chuck watched her concerned. Something seemed off about her. She seemed more sedate, withdrawn upon herself than the last time she was in the room. She usually only acted like that when she was around Ellie. And was that…was that tomato sauce on her lip?

"Carina…" Chuck said and reached up to brush the red stuff off her upper lip. She started in surprise when he touched her and her eyes widened in astonishment when he stuck his finger in his mouth. Yup, it was tomato sauce. When had she had a chance to eat pizza? "Carina, are you okay?"

She was staring at his mouth, her eyes slightly dilated and her breathing shallow. "Uh…what did you say?"

"Do you two need a moment alone or do you think we can continue on with the meeting?" Beckman asked of the two of them, actually sounding amused.

Chuck spun back around to face Beckman, embarrassed at forgetting they weren't alone. "Sorry, General."

"It's quite all right, as what just happened simply illustrated my earlier point," Beckman commented. "Agent Hansen, you have lost the ability to view this project and this team objectively. Your recent actions make it clear that your number one priority is Chuck's safety. That is fine for a bodyguard but terrible for a project leader, somebody who must look at the big picture at all times. So you have two choices: You may accept an immediate reassignment to a place as far away from Mr. Bartowski as possible until you undergo a psychological evaluation to determine if it is still possible for you to maintain objectivity while deployed in the field, or you resign your position as head of the Intersect Project and take a position on the team more suitable to your current circumstances."

Carina didn't even hesitate in responding, "I'll resign, ma'am."

"I suspected as much." Beckman took a deep breath and whatever emotion might have been on her face disappeared. "Effective immediately, Agent Hansen, you are to be removed from all operational decision making processes. You will instead take on the role of Mr. Bartowski's personal security. You understand what that means, Agent Hansen?"

Carina nodded her head enthusiastically and whatever was wrong with her before had completely disappeared. She looked…happy.

However, as much as Carina seemed pleased with the turn of events, which made him pleased, he didn't understand. "Uh…General, I don't understand."

"What it means, Chuck, is that you and I will be going into permanent 24-hour protection mode." Carina beamed down at him, her hands on his shoulders, massaging them gently, and then she whispered into his ear, "Hello, roomie."

* * *

**Next time on As the Agent Turns**: Casey and Sarah talk some more, Sarah learns some shocking new information, a plan is formed, Sarah gets her mission, and oh yeah, there's a kiss. But who's doing the kissing? Dun-dun-dun!

And don't forget to keep voting in my poll!


	20. Goodbye to All That, Part Three

**Author's Note**: So normally I would never do this, as I believe in letting the writing speak for itself, but after seeing some of the reviews for the last chapter I felt compelled to give you all some friendly advice: Relax. Everything that happens in this story has a purpose. Sarah/Chuck/Carina has a purpose. I am a Charah fan. The end of this chapter has a purpose. I know what I'm doing. No matter how you think things look, you're probably wrong about where I'm taking this story. And if you're right, keep it to yourself! I don't want you spoiling it for everybody else. :P PM me instead. I'm always willing to see what people have to say.

The usual thank yous go out to the usual people. Thank you to **Wepdiggy** for his help. He told me I should make two scenes here more developed and exciting, so I did and I think they are better for it. Please read his great _College Years_ fic. Thank you to **moo**, who is like the devil on my shoulder telling me what I should change when it comes to the relationship dynamics in this story. Read her story _Second Chance_ and tell her how much you want Charah to end up together in the end. **moo**, I hope you take time away from your computerized world long enough to drop me a review.

Thank you to everyone who has voted in my poll! And please keep voting. I am now up to 8 votes! Haha. Whoever you wonderful people are, keep voting the smart way. I've also been pleasantly surprised to see Chuck/Carina slowly climb too. As a writer, it's pretty cool to see that in a largely Charah dominated fandom, I can somehow convince some people to vote against the norm. Awesome!

And I know this note has gone on long enough, but let me do a bit of self-promotion. If you want to see my idea of Charah fluff (officially coined hard-edged fluff by the illustrious **Course Jester**), please read, if you haven't already, my story _Chuck vs. The Crane_ and then it's sequel _Sarah vs. The Rope-a-Dope_. A warning, the sequel is M-rated. Thanks!

* * *

Sarah polished off her fifth slice of pizza and relaxed into her chair. That was easily the best damn meal she'd had in a long time. She had probably even eaten too much food and would likely regret her actions in an hour or two, but right now she just didn't care. Something about eating food not contained within the confines of her prison cell back in the detention center made the pizza taste so much…better.

As she wiped her mouth clean of any potential mess, she furtively glanced in Larkin's direction. He had been eating sullenly for the last 10 minutes, and she found it a little unnerving. Granted he wasn't as talkative as Chuck or Carina, but he had never passed up an opportunity to engage her in conversation before, especially when they were alone. The fight with Carina must have really shaken him up. Of course, since she had no idea why they had fought in the first place, she didn't know what to do or say.

Not that she cared all that much. Larkin had clearly been an ass to Carina, not that Sarah hadn't been called much worse in her life, and she resented Larkin for making her actually feel _sorry_ for Carina. She could understand Carina's pain as she had the exact same fears as the red head obviously did. If Carina was worried about Chuck not finding her acceptable, what chance did she possibly have? At least Carina had never been a traitor.

Carina and Chuck still hadn't returned, and she was done eating, so she was left with either watching Larkin mope, or go in search of John Casey and find out just what kind of screwed up team she was now a part of. The choice was obvious and she pushed away from the table. Larkin didn't even look at her and she shrugged her shoulders. She headed off in the direction of where she had last seen Casey.

Never, before now, did she think she'd ever actively attempt to spend more time with John Casey, but he was far better than the alternative.

As she had expected, she found Casey in the shooting range attached to the armory. She grabbed a pair of noise muffling ear guards and slipped them on before opening the heavy soundproofed door. She stepped through and watched Casey empty an entire magazine from his P228 into the target downrange. Each sharp retort was like a dull thump in her ears.

Casey ejected the empty magazine and placed the now unloaded gun on the platform in front of him. He pressed a button and the target began moving closer. It only took a few seconds for the target to move all the way uprange, and Sarah could only admire the tight grouping of shots in the target silhouette's upper chest and head.

"That's not bad," Sarah said loudly.

Casey grunted and she should have known he would have known she had been there the whole time.

He removed his ear guards and she did the same. He scowled at her and produced a new magazine, placing it beside his P228, but not loading it. "What do you want, Walker? This is my 'me time' you're interrupting."

"I want to know what the hell just happened between Larkin and Carina." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. She wasn't leaving until she got some answers. "I'm a member of this team now, and I deserve to know about any potential problems my fellow teammates might have with each other."

Casey again grunted—she noticed that he did that a lot and each seemed to contain an entire sentence's worth of substance—and loaded the magazine into his P228, chambered a round, and pressed a button sending the shot-up target back downrange. Sarah watched the target move in confusion. She didn't understand why he didn't replace the used target sheet with a new one. Casey must have picked up on her confusion because he shrugged his shoulders and said, "I like to see if I can hit the same spot twice."

"Oh. That's…hard," she said, unable to really think of anything intelligent in response.

"I heard from Larkin that you're out of practice. That is unacceptable. Before you deploy in the field, you'll have to recertify."

"Recertify," Sarah gaped at him in disbelief.

"Obviously not officially, but you'll need to meet my requirements if you think I'm letting you anywhere near Bartowski with a loaded weapon while on a mission."

"I'm not that bad," Sarah whined. "I don't see why I have to prove anything."

Casey stared at her and then snorted. "Wow, you two are perfect for each other. He whines like a little girl too whenever I make him spend time here." He put his ear guards back on and she quickly did too. He took aim and again emptied the entire magazine into the target. He ejected the empty magazine, put the P228 down, and repeated the process of bringing the target closer.

"Damn," he said, "you're throwing me off."

"Sooooorry," she said unsympathetically. "If you just answer my question, I'll leave you to your guns."

"How the hell did I become the one responsible for relaying all the insufferable relationship angst? You CIA morons are patently incapable of keeping it in your pants."

"What? I haven't done anything…"

"_Yet_," Casey said. "You haven't done anything yet. But give it a week or two and I'll probably have to pry you off Bartowski just to get him to concentrate."

She did her best to make sure the mental images that formed with Casey's words didn't translate into a flush on her cheeks. "So is that what happened between Larkin and Carina?" She found it hard to believe that those two could have handled being in the same proximity of each other long enough to have sex, let alone a relationship.

Casey muttered under his breath, "I joined the military to serve my country, not babysit a bunch of horny idiots."

Sarah glared at Casey and tapped her foot. "You know I can hear you."

"And I thought three horny idiots were bad enough, now I have four? They don't pay me enough for this shit."

"Can still hear you…" Sarah said annoyed.

"Go away and leave me alone," Casey groused and turned on his heel to face his shooting station again.

"I'm not leaving until I get some answers. I need to know if this involves Chuck somehow."

Casey spun around and stared at Sarah in stupefaction. "Of course it involves Chuck. Carina doesn't breathe without thinking about Chuck." He shook his head and said, "And I thought the hair was just a bottle, but clearly you come by it naturally."

"Go to hell, Casey." Sarah tensed up and prepared herself to fight Casey. He was being a prick, more than usual, and it was difficult at the best of times not to resort to violence. "Tell me what's going on between Larkin and Carina and I'll leave you alone. I don't want any trouble, but you're pissing me off."

"I hate this job."

Casey sighed, and turned back to face her. He crossed his massive arms in front of his chest, in emulation of her stance, and glared at her. After several seconds of just glaring, he took a deep breath and started to speak, finally telling her what she wanted to know. "As you know, Bryce and Carina's cover calls for them to be in a relationship. When the team initially formed, they took to their covers rather…zealously."

"So they were screwing," Sarah stated bluntly.

Casey groaned piteously, like just thinking about Larkin and Carina having sex was physically painful for him. "Well, yes and no. I think." He shrugged his shoulders then. "With those two, you can never be completely sure."

"I don't understand."

"Normally, Carina plays it pretty fast and loose. Much like you, sex for her is no big thing. She'll jump in bed with somebody at the drop of a hat if she feels like it."

"Personal experience?" she asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Casey said simply.

She was a little taken aback that he had admitted that so easily. "So what happened that made them hate each other so much?"

"Look, you've got to understand, Carina was hung up on Chuck from the very start. First, it was just your standard hero worship. It's a bit hard for any rational human being to understand, I know, but the idiot almost died saving her life, so it's somewhat understandable, especially for a woman like Carina with her issues." Casey reached up and yanked down the target sheet, looking at it one last time in disgust before he balled it up and threw it away.

He continued on talking as he policed his shooting station, "When Chuck saved her life again, six months later, it turned into outright infatuation. She's been hopelessly hung up on the nerd ever since, and it's only gotten worse as the years go by. It's the most annoying thing I've ever seen and I can already tell you two are going to be even worse."

"Oookay," Sarah drawled, "but what does that have to do with Larkin?"

"Well, like I said, Carina normally plays it fast and loose. When their cover first started, she and Bryce were very…affectionate. But she never slept with him. Bryce was confused. He thought, because of her reputation, she'd make a move early on. She didn't."

Sarah could guess where this was going and almost laughed. "So let me guess, he started to think he was special."

"Yes," Casey said. "What made Carina so good at undercover work, Walker, was her ability to truly get into whatever role she was required to play. She could give off the impression that she actually liked seducing marks." Casey picked up a new magazine and loaded it into the P228, which he stuck in the waistband of his pants behind his back. "Larkin thought after the first few months of heavy flirting and no sex, it meant she really liked him, that she was finally taking a real interest in having a serious relationship for once. That he wasn't somebody she considered just a mark, because if he was, why hadn't she slept with him yet? He started to develop real feelings for her, or at least that's what he claimed."

"But she was just toying with him. That sounds like Carina," Sarah said. She kind of felt bad for Larkin. At one point, she had thought Chuck was just toying with her too, that he didn't really care about her and was just trying to manipulate her. Truthfully, that fear still existed in the back of her mind, but she had accepted, reluctantly, that he was telling the truth when he said he felt something for her. It had not been a nice feeling when she thought he didn't.

Casey shrugged his shoulders and placed his ear guards down on a table along the back wall. "I don't pretend to understand how Carina's mind works. But I don't think she was truly toying with him. Carina has always been very discreet about her affairs because she doesn't like giving off the impression to Chuck that she's unavailable and Bryce was anything but discreet."

Casey opened the heavy door of the range and stepped out. He didn't hold the door open for her and she glared at his back as he walked into the armory. He talked to her over his shoulder, "It's why she almost always picks schmucks Chuck doesn't know to screw. Bartowski doesn't look at sex and relationships quite like we do. If he knew she was sleeping with somebody, even if it was just meaningless sex, he'd probably never make a move."

Sarah didn't say anything, just followed him. She wasn't sure what to think, and she was slightly uncomfortable at the realization that she might not have handled things all that differently from Carina. She was starting to realize that she was dishearteningly similar to the red head.

Casey stopped in front of a rack of weapons, and studied a row of M4 carbines. "I think that's the main reason why she never took Bryce up on his offer, because a part of her was already too hung up on Chuck to consider it. Or at least, that's why it took him eight months before the two of them got too drunk after a mission and Bryce finally smooth talked his way into her pants."

"Only he couldn't perform," Sarah said. That's what she figured Carina had meant with her comment earlier, the one where she had said he wasn't up to standard.

"Don't know, never really bothered to find out just how badly he did, but it was not good. That wasn't really the issue though."

Sarah's eyes widened and suddenly Larkin's resentment of Chuck during the fight gradually began to make a little more sense. Carina must have done or said something that really got under Larkin's skin. "She must have done something really bad to piss Larkin off so much."

Casey actually grinned as he removed one of the carbines from the rack seemingly at random. "She did. Apparently, she said Chuck's name. Twice. That much I know for sure, according to the big fight afterward that everybody in a four block radius probably heard."

"Wow," she said awed. Then she giggled. She abruptly stopped giggling, embarrassed she had actually started in the first place, and then continued on laughing normally. "No wonder Larkin is so pissed."

"Like I said, she's been hopelessly hung up on Chuck for years. I don't envy the poor bastards she screws as I imagine it's not an infrequent occurrence with her."

Casey began to strip the carbine, placing the individual parts along a table in the armory. He started to clean them. It seemed Casey liked to clean his guns as a way of calming his mind.

"Ever happen to you?" Sarah asked curiously.

"Nope," Casey said and then looked up at her and smirked. "Carina and I were long before her nerd infatuation got terminal. Unfortunately for Larkin, I recognize the symptoms and it looks like he lost you to Chuck even faster than he lost Carina. That's probably another reason why he got so mad at Carina today. She just reminded him of yet another person he lost to Chuck."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for him? After what he did to Chuck with Jill?"

Casey shrugged his shoulders and began to slowly reassemble the M4. "Don't really care what you feel. Hate him, don't hate him, whatever. Just don't screw up the team dynamic because you suddenly decide you can't make up your mind which way your skirt blows."

"I have no interest in Larkin at all."

"Good, see that it stays that way. Because I guarantee you the first chance Carina senses your resolve is weakening, she'll be mixing her chocolate with Bartowski's peanut butter before you even know it's happening."

Sarah looked at Casey in confusion. "What?"

"Sorry, I like food metaphors."

* * *

Carina helped him walk from the office back to the conference table. She had her right arm wrapped tightly around his waist and he couldn't help but lean heavily against her. Despite everything, he was pleased. He wasn't thrilled about the idea of moving in with Carina, not because of anything to do with Carina, but because of the message it would send to his family, friends, and Sarah. He had already had enough trouble over the years convincing Ellie that there was nothing going on between him and Carina and now they would be moving into together? Yeah, that wouldn't look suspicious at all. And he certainly wasn't looking forward to Carina having free reign to watch his every move. At least before he'd had a little bit of privacy, especially since Bryce was never around, when it was just him in his own place, now though, he could only imagine how much Carina was likely to hover.

But…he would deal because at least it meant she wouldn't be leaving him. For that alone, he would endure a lot.

He smiled down at Carina's head, confident that she couldn't see him, and pulled her a little closer to his body in a one-armed hug. His life may have just become incredibly complicated, but that was okay, because she was still there to be his friend.

"So we're to start the plan?" Carina asked.

Chuck nodded and murmured, "Uh-huh."

"And you're okay with that? You're ready for everything that will happen?" Carina looked up at him with a skeptical frown.

"I understand that I have to do what is necessary to get the mission done. You and Casey have prepared me well."

"It's just…I know it will be hard for you. I want you to know that you can always talk to me about anything," Carina said. She looked away then and her voice grew quiet. "Even about Walker if you want."

"I don't know what's going on between Sarah and me, Carina, or if anything will ever happen. After all this is over, she may want nothing to do with me. But I would like the opportunity to see what's there, and if we're going to be living together, that means I think we should establish some kind of ground rules," Chuck said earnestly and all at once. He was embarrassed to be talking about Sarah with Carina. He knew how uncomfortable it must make his partner, but he really had no choice.

Carina smirked up at him playfully and he groaned. He knew that look. She was about to do or say something that was going to make him regret bringing up the topic. "You mean Blondie might have a problem with us sharing a bed?"

"What?" Chuck spluttered. Nobody had said anything about having to share a bed with Carina.

"I can't very well keep an eye on you 24/7 if I'm sleeping in another room, can I?" Carina asked with a raised eyebrow. She was acting like the fact that they would have to sleep together was so self-evident he was an idiot for even bringing it up.

"But…Carina…no…what!?"

"Are you saying you don't want to sleep with me?" Carina pouted and made her eyes wide and vulnerable.

"No! I never said that," Chuck quickly exclaimed, worried that Carina might take his words wrong. He knew she was probably teasing him, but he had always been an easy target for her to work up.

Carina suddenly brightened; her whole face alive and happy. "So you're saying you _do_ want to sleep with me."

Chuck groaned in exasperation, "I can't win no matter what I say, can I?"

"Nope!" Carina grinned up at him and suddenly, before he knew what was happening, she had threaded her fingers through his hair, grabbed a nice clump, and pulled his head down close to her face. He watched her eyes briefly shift to something behind him, but before he could even think about what she might be looking at, her stormy eyes refocused and she kissed him. Hard and urgently. He gasped in shocked surprise at the feel of her warm lips, tasting faintly of tomato sauce mixed with strawberry, pressed against his and Carina took the opportunity of his now slightly open mouth to briefly dip her tongue inside.

A flood of memories came rushing back to him of that night on his birthday: the feel of Carina's naked body pressed against his, the sounds she made as he kissed and touched her, the way she arched her back and dug her fingernails into his shoulders as he pushed into her for the first time, and so much more that his senses nearly overloaded.

Their kiss lasted only a few seconds but it felt like so much longer and he forcefully, but carefully, extracted himself from Carina's grasp. He sucked in a deep lungful of breath, still tasting Carina on his lips. He stared at Carina in wide-eyed surprise and could not form any coherent thoughts. What the hell had just happened?

Carina flounced away from him after that and he turned to watch her, still in shock. She wasn't even looking at him, but looking at something behind him, and he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he had just been setup. She had never kissed him like that before, even when she had been at her most flirtatious and he could only think of one reason why she would change that policy. Sure enough, Sarah was standing behind him, her eyes wide and her entire body as rigid as a column. Casey was standing next to her with a very amused look on his face.

Oh this was a disaster.

* * *

She was not an idiot, she knew exactly what had just happened. She had practically seen the whole thing. That didn't stop her from burning holes in the back of Chuck's head or imagining several different ways of killing Carina and getting rid of her body.

That bitch! And to think she had started to warm up to Carina. Well, that plan was officially off the table now. She wondered how everybody else would react if she just stormed up to Carina and punched her in the face. It wasn't even so much about the red head kissing Chuck as it was the bitch flaunting her stronger power position in her face. That was unacceptable.

"What the hell is going on?" she asked with a growl.

Carina shrugged her shoulders and smirked at her. "Oh nothing. Just congratulating Chuck on our new living arrangements," Carina said nonchalantly.

"New living arrangements?" she gritted out between her teeth. It was taking all her restraint not to do something stupid and rash. But oh how she wanted to kill Carina right now. The rage was beginning to boil inside her like a cauldron, her ears ringing, her whole body tensing up and flooding with adrenaline like it knew she was about to fight.

"It's not what you think," Chuck blurted out, his eyes switching between her and Carina like he was watching a tennis match. And he was still licking his damn lips. Carina could not have been _that_ good a kisser.

Carina sent a smoldering, heated look right at Chuck and said in a silken voice, "Oh it's exactly what she thinks, Chuck. It's only fair she knows whose bed you'll be occupying in the future."

"Girls, do you think we can leave the CW dramatics for another time?" Casey asked sharply, gruffly bumping into her shoulder as he moved past her and walked over to the conference table. The contact caused her to break her stare with Carina temporarily and the momentary lapse was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. With the target of her rage no longer directly in her sights she immediately began to calm down. This was not the time.

The big man sat down in a chair beside Larkin, who was still doing his best impression of a statue. He hadn't even reacted during her exchange with Carina.

Beckman's visage suddenly appeared on the big video monitor that dominated the far wall of Castle, directly in front of the conference table. "Good, you're all here. We can continue on with the last part of this briefing."

Sarah sighed and continued to push down her anger and hurt over what had just happened until it was contained behind an iron wall. She wouldn't forget it though, and she definitely hadn't forgotten Carina's insinuation that she and Chuck would be living together now. The smug bitch was crazy if she thought that was _ever_ going to happen. Just the _thought_ of Carina and Chuck sharing a bed absolutely infuriated her. Chuck was hers. He belonged to her and she had never reacted well to people trying to take away from her what was rightfully hers.

She had specifically told Chuck that she would only help him if he worked with her and her only. She hadn't agreed to help just to be pushed to the side in preference of Carina, regardless of the circumstances. That was not their deal.

She tuned out whatever Beckman might be saying—at the moment she honestly couldn't say if Beckman was even talking period— and instead imagined her reaching inside her jacket, pulling out her P229, lining up on Carina's happily smirking face, and pulling the trigger.

She could feel the gun bucking upwards slightly in her hand as the bullet flew true. She could hear the deafening roar as the gunshot echoed throughout Castle. She could see the spray of blood as the bullet impacted and then exited out the back of Carina's skull. She could taste the ashy gun shot residue as it settled on her tongue. She could smell the acrid bitterness in the air.

She smiled faintly then at her fantasy. That would solve Carina's new living arrangements right quick. Then Chuck would no longer have any temptation, Carina would no longer be smirking, and she could finally get everything she wanted. Stupid, red headed, _bitch_.

She hadn't even realized her feet were moving and her hand wasn't digging inside her jacket for her gun, until suddenly she found herself standing next to the big conference table. She needed to concentrate. Again she reminded herself to push down her anger until the time was appropriate. There was a meeting to have, and then she would deal with both Chuck and Carina. If Chuck needed a reminder of who he belonged to, well she would give him one. Then she'd give Carina one next.

She sat down next to Chuck again, only this time she went out of her way to not look at him. She could feel his eyes on her but she refused to meet them. Instead she focused on this General Beckman. She had heard of Beckman and had done her homework on the head of the NSA, as well as all of the NSA deputy directors, department heads, and power brokers. She had done the same for the CIA. After Beckman's initial appearance, where she had chastised everybody for their poor performance, she had determined that her overall impression of General Diane Beckman was fairly consistent with everything she had learned during her time with Fulcrum. Beckman was as close to a true believer as a person in her position could possibly be. She was a serious and dangerous woman and it wouldn't be smart to get on her bad side.

"My time is short, so I will get right down to it," Beckman said.

She leaned forward and her eyes seemed to double in size as she peered intensely at everybody gathered around the table. "As of this moment, Agent Hansen will be stepping down as Project lead. Mr. Bartowski, excuse me," she paused and corrected herself, "_Agent_ Bartowski will be taking her place."

Sarah slowly spun around in her seat to fix Chuck with a surprised look, all her anger over his kiss with Carina suddenly forgotten. His face was unreadable except for a barely discernible apologetic look in his eyes. This must have been what he and Carina had talked about with Beckman earlier. She wondered what Carina had done to get demoted, but she had always thought that Chuck wasn't really part of the CIA.

She turned back to face Beckman and took a deep breath. It wasn't that she was afraid of Beckman, or even what the woman could do to her if she no longer felt she had any use, but she didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with her and potentially mess everything up before she even started her new life as a member of Team Bartowski.

"Excuse me, General, but I was under the impression that Chuck wasn't part of the CIA," Sarah asked in a very neutral tone. She wasn't even sure why she cared so much, but she had liked thinking of him as separate from the agency that had destroyed her life. He was untainted. Not anymore it would seem.

"That was correct until today," Beckman said. "However, certain events have caused a change in plans. In exchange for your reinstatement as an agent of the CIA, as well as your placement on the team, Chuck has agreed to certain conditions, one of which is that he officially joins the CIA."

Chuck spoke up, "It was an easy decision to make, as I told you before, we need your help."

"What do you need my help for? I told you that I would give you whatever information I can on Fulcrum's leadership, but that's the best I can really offer," Sarah said. She didn't really understand what they wanted from her. There was no reason for Chuck to join the CIA for that information; she would have given it to him willingly. All she asked was that she get to spend time with him. Fulcrum could go to hell.

Beckman answered her question promptly, "Your mission is simple, Agent Walker. You will be returning to Fulcrum."

Sarah almost laughed, she thought Beckman was joking. When Beckman maintained her level gaze and remained as serious as Sarah had ever seen her, she quickly composed herself and realized that this was not a humorous matter. Beckman was genuinely suggesting she return to Fulcrum. "You can't be serious, General. They'll kill me the second I show my face."

"You are a highly placed member in the organization, or so you claim. Why would they not give you the chance to prove yourself?" Beckman asked.

"Well…they would, but what would I be able to tell them? They will never believe that I just escaped from your custody. They will interrogate me to find out how much I was compromised and then kill me if for no other reason than as a precaution."

Beckman gave her a thin, faint smile. It was bizarrely terrifying. "Not if you return with a gift."

She could feel the eyes of everyone on her, even Larkin was looking at her. They clearly all knew something that she didn't and it was incredibly unnerving. This was something she had wanted to avoid, what she had made Chuck promise he would not do. He was keeping secrets from her, playing her for some angle that she couldn't see. She was tired of being somebody's puppet, letting somebody else direct her and guide her life.

"And what gift would I be returning with?"

"I am under the impression that you believe the Intersect Project to be a myth," Beckman stated.

"Uh…yes, I've searched for it for many years and never found anything concrete," Sarah responded. They weren't about to tell her that the Intersect was real, were they? If they were, she knew that it would explain a lot about Chuck and this seemingly special team he had. Why they had a facility like Castle, why the government would have stopped at nothing to retrieve Chuck, why he had three obviously skilled and capable agents as partners and teammates. People like Carina and Casey and Larkin would have been wasted on any operation of lesser importance.

But then what did that make Chuck? Maybe he was the designer of the Intersect or he maintained it. She knew that he was very intelligent and well versed in technology. It didn't seem all that hard to believe that he might be involved in some way with the Intersect Project.

"Well, Agent Walker, you have been mistaken. I assure you that the Intersect is very real."

"You're going to give Fulcrum the Intersect?" Sarah asked in disbelief.

"No, you are." Beckman paused and then added, "Surely they would believe that we would not give up the Intersect so easily. That should be enough to vouch for your apparent loyalty."

Sarah blinked and looked at her…teammates sitting around her. They trusted her enough to give her the allegedly single most important intelligence asset in the country? The Intersect was rumored to be capable of some truly amazing things. Just thinking about what she remembered it was capable of, she suddenly realized how it was Chuck was able to recall so much about her. He had probably looked her up in the Intersect's database. That explained so much, although why somebody would put her hatred of olives in her file, she had no idea.

Their plan made sense though, whether they truly trusted her or not. With the Intersect firmly in hand, she could practically write her own ticket to the top of the Fulcrum food chain. She'd gain access to the Elders and everyone on down. Placing a double in that prime a spot would mean unfettered access to everything Fulcrum had to offer: financial records, personnel records, current and past projects, ongoing operations, there was no limit. It was a surprisingly simple plan.

"Ma'am, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'm not really sure it's deserved. My views of your agency, and especially that of the CIA, are well known. I don't want to start this new arrangement on the wrong foot, so I feel compelled to tell you honestly that I only agreed to Chuck's deal because he promised that we would work together. I hold no loyalty to you, your agency, or your government."

Sarah held her breath slightly and gently bit down on her bottom lip as she waited for the General's reaction to her little speech. She knew that she very well could have just sentenced herself to the rest of her life in prison, however short that life would undoubtedly be. But she had enough integrity and professionalism left to make it clear just how little she cared for the job or the mission. If they asked her to do it, she would, and she would do it to the best of her ability, but she wouldn't care like she might have when she first started this business all those many years ago.

"Understood, Agent Walker, and exactly what I expected. I appreciate your honesty, so let me take the opportunity to respond to you in kind. This is not an act of trust," Beckman stated and her voice was measured and crisp, "but an act of calculation. You will be very closely watched and Major Casey has been authorized to terminate you at any hint that you no longer have this operation's best interest in mind. Make no mistake, you work for us now."

"I understand, ma'am," Sarah said.

"Chuck, I believe that you can handle the rest of the briefing," Beckman said abruptly and she vanished off the screen.

Sarah immediately turned to look at Chuck with expectant and anticipatory eyes. She was very curious about the Intersect and wanted to know as much about it as she could.

Chuck smiled weakly at her but he wouldn't look her in the eye. She became instantly suspicious and was just about to call him on his avoidance when he spoke, "As the General said, she's putting me in charge."

"We're all doomed," Casey deadpanned.

"Ha-ha, Casey. And to think I was going to give you all the gunplay you could ask for. Well, now I won't."

"Bartowski," Casey growled and she watched Chuck roll his eyes.

"Look," Chuck started, "there is no easy way to say this, Sarah, so I'm just going to say it: Not only am I project lead, but I am now your handler. You will report to me now and nobody else."

Sarah was confused. Where was the problem with that? That's exactly the kind of arrangement she had wanted. "I don't have a problem with that," she said with a warm smile.

Carina snorted and said scornfully, "Wasn't it you who once said it was inappropriate for a handler to become close to their asset?"

"Inappropriate for you, maybe, but not for Chuck," Sarah intimated and leaned closer to Chuck, glaring at Carina the whole while. She could just as easily play the seductress as Carina could.

Chuck looked uncomfortable and shifted away from her slightly. "That's not really the issue though. Your mission requires a partner and it's not going to be me."

Sarah knew where this was going and didn't like it at all. "I don't want to be paired up with Casey."

Casey grunted and said, "The feeling is very much mutual."

Chuck continued on as if Casey hadn't spoken, "Casey is not who I had in mind. You will be partnered up with Bryce."

"What? Why?" she didn't really mean her questions to sound like a whine but she wanted to be partnered up with Larkin even less than Casey.

"Because the Intersect isn't a computer program, at least not like you and I normally think of it," Chuck explained.

"I don't understand. General Beckman said that the Intersect was real. How can it be real if it's not a computer?"

Chuck made a sweeping gesture at Larkin and said in an oddly lofty tone, like he was performing a part in a play, "Sarah Walker, let me introduce you to your new partner and your way back into Fulcrum: the Human Intersect Project, Bryce Larkin."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _The Devil is in the Details_ - So...uh...yeah. Stuff gets explained (sort of), Chuck and Sarah have a heart to heart (in a way), Sarah warns Carina (nicely), Bryce makes a move (obviously), and Casey laughs at all the idiots he works with (repeatedly). Next chapter may mean the end of this arc (I haven't quite decided yet) so you know what means. Time for another shake up. Should be fun.


	21. Trust Ain't What it Used to Be

**Author's Note**: I know what you're probably thinking to yourself: _OMG, no way! That lazy bum finally updated Double Agent. Wait, why do I care? I don't even remember what's going on in that story._ Yeah... I totally don't blame you for thinking that. I don't really have an excuse for why it's taken me more than two months to update...okay, that's not true, I have a bunch of excuses, but you probably don't care to listen to them. Anyway, my personal life is going a little better and I no longer have _Mass Effect 2_ to distract me, so hopefully this mean I will be updating a little more frequently. Notice how I said hopefully, however, as it is no definite thing. You can be rest assured, though, that I will not abandon this story no matter how crappy the current season of _Chuck_ gets (and right now, it's pretty damn shitty). It's sad that I recognize my completely AU characters of Chuck and Sarah far more than I recognize the ones on the show, and I'm not even saying that because I'm the writer.

Big thanks must go out to two people: To **Wepdiggy** for his usual assitance and help; he actually helped clarify several issues for me that needed to be fixed. And to **crystal elements** for helping me with the first part of this chapter, even though I was mean to her and asked far too many questions.

Okay, so to help explain things a bit. When we last left off, Chuck and Carina played some tonsil hockey, Chuck was made an official agent of the CIA, Sarah was reinstated, and we all found out that Bryce was the Intersect. This is very much a transition chapter, but I hope you enjoy anyway. I briefly contemplated splitting it up, but I figured you all deserved a big chapter after the wait. I know I said some stuff would happen in this chapter in my preview, but after two months, my vision for this chapter changed a bit. For instance, the chapter title changed. And no real Bryce scene here. Certainly no Bryce and Sarah scenes. I'm sure you guys are real torn up about that too. Unfortunately, I had to add extra Charah as well. Again, I'm sure you're all lamenting that as well. Sorry! **moo** told me a while back I needed more Charah in my stories. You can blame her.

* * *

"Bullshit."

"What?"

Sarah glared at the array of people sitting around her. "I said bullshit."

Chuck frowned and ran a slightly trembling hand through his hair. Her eyes narrowed at the sight and now she knew for sure that nothing they were telling her was on the level.

"You can't put a computer in someone's head," Sarah stated emphatically.

"Yes," Larkin said definitively, "you can." He leaned forward onto the table, chin resting in his hand. "And we did."

"And you're it?" Sarah asked skeptically. She couldn't help it, there was just no way Bryce Larkin was the Intersect. That made _zero_ sense.

"Last time I checked."

Sarah rolled her eyes at his response and impatiently turned toward Chuck. She blocked everyone else from her mind, made them fade from her vision, until the only person she could see, the only person she cared about seeing, was Chuck. "Look at me," she said.

Chuck sighed and spun his chair slightly so that he was facing her.

"You look me in the eye and tell me that all of this is true." She knew he couldn't do it. Chuck had fooled her many times in the past, that was true, but she knew he couldn't do it here. Because there was just no way what they were telling her was right.

"Sarah, there are a lot of things that I'm sure you don't understand right now, and there are even more that I can't explain to you, but I need you to trust me when I tell you that Bryce is the Intersect."

"That's not what I asked."

Chuck shrugged his shoulders and she could see the pleading in his eyes for her to accept what he was telling her. "That's all I can say at the moment."

"That's not good enough," she snapped out angrily. "You made me a promise!"

Chuck took a deep breath and then turned away from her to face the rest of the group. "Uh…guys, could I have the room for a minute?"

"First lover's spat," Casey said and then grunted. "Something tells me this is going to be a common occurrence."

"Casey," Chuck snapped out angrily, and Sarah was a bit taken aback at the anger in Chuck's tone. She had never heard Chuck sound like that; he was normally even-tempered and friendly. It was obvious that this whole Intersect nonsense was bothering him as much as it was bothering her.

It wasn't that she cared about Bryce being the Intersect, it was that not only was Chuck reneging on his promise to always be at her side, but he was lying to her as well. Nothing over the last few months made any sense if Chuck wasn't the Intersect. Why did he have such a loyal handler in Carina? Why did Casey risk killing his partner of five years over him if he wasn't the Intersect? Why did General Beckman care about him at all? Why had he just been put in charge of the whole project? Why did he have his own team period?

She knew that Chuck was special but the government didn't care how unique a person you were. They only cared about what you could do for them.

She needed answers to these questions. She demanded answers to these questions. She wasn't here because she cared about helping the government or about the greater good or any other crap like that. She was here because of Chuck. That's why she had agreed to help. Chuck was her mission. Without him, there was no reason for her to stick around.

Casey grunted again in annoyance but he pushed away from the table and stood up. He placed one of his large hands on Larkin's shoulder and started to pull the smaller man out of his seat. "Let's go, moron, we can go over your mission specs again."

Larkin didn't move at all, instead going limp like a child who refused to let their parent make them do something they didn't want to do. "I kinda wanted to stay and watch the fireworks," he whined.

"I wasn't really asking," Casey said with a growl.

Sarah was starting to wonder why Larkin was even a member of Team Bartowski if Chuck was the only one who seemed able to stand him. Maybe that was all the proof she needed that he really _was_ the Intersect. Surely they wouldn't put up with him otherwise.

Larkin reluctantly got out of his chair and followed Casey as the bigger man left the room. Larkin's cool blue eyes never left her, and she could feel herself automatically tensing up in response. She wasn't sure what Larkin's game was, but it was making her slightly uncomfortable. She couldn't shake the notion that he was going to use this newfound partnership of theirs to finally try something with her.

"Chuck?" Carina asked in a very concerned tone.

Chuck just nodded his head.

Carina sighed, squeezed his shoulder, and then left the room as well. Now it was just the two of them and she was determined to get some answers.

She waited until Chuck's attention was fully back on her before she repeated her earlier lament. "You made me a promise."

"I did," Chuck agreed. He looked tired and it suddenly occurred to her how much pain he must be in. Why hadn't she remembered? How had she let that slip her mind? What kind of person was she? She claimed to have feelings for the man and yet she couldn't even remember that he was hurt?

Sarah sighed and changed focus. There was no point in badgering Chuck for information if he was just going to pass out on her. She needed him healthy and clear-headed.

"Chuck, are you okay?" she said in as caring a tone as she could, which she could admit was not very caring. She wasn't used to providing comfort to somebody, only taking it away. She felt intensely awkward as she hesitantly reached out and placed a gentle hand on his arm. She started to rub his bicep in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. Was she doing it right? She really didn't know, but as upset and confused as she was at the moment, she felt compelled to make sure Chuck was doing okay.

He sighed and rubbed a weary hand across his face. It shook and that concerned her more than it probably should. Maybe his hand hadn't trembled earlier because he was trying to avoid her but because of the pain?

"I'm really tired," he confessed to her quietly.

"Are you in pain?"

Chuck seemed reluctant to say anything but after looking at her quietly for several seconds, his whole body just seemed to collapse in on itself. He nodded his head slowly and croaked out, "Some."

He moved a hand down to his side and ghosted over the area where he had been shot. It was like he wanted to touch it, but was too afraid of what might happen if he did. He gingerly moved in his chair, grimacing slightly, and let out a shuddering breath.

He was not looking good at all and she made a decision then. "Come on," she said and stood up. She held out her hand and looked at Chuck expectantly. Chuck slipped his hand into hers and she was surprised at how warm and moist his skin was. That was not a very good sign. She probably needed to find Devon. He had said that right now, a fever was Chuck's biggest concern.

She leaned forward and helped pull Chuck carefully out of his chair. Any sudden movement might pull his stitches and she knew how bad that would be.

"What are you doing?" Chuck asked. "You're not going to take me into a dark corner and kill me, are you?"

She immediately stopped the gentle pulling motion of her hand and spun around to glare at Chuck. That was not funny. "You don't really think that I would do that, do you?" she asked worriedly. He didn't really believe that. He couldn't. Even if it turned out that he had been lying to her about everything since day one, she didn't think she could actually hurt him. Leave, sure, and never look back, but actually hurt Chuck? That ship had sailed a long time ago.

Chuck instantly took a step forward, placing one hand on her hip in an entirely far too intimate a gesture for their current level of familiarity, and yet the presence of his warm hand on her hip burned through her clothes and caused her whole body to flush with heat. She had to look away so he wouldn't see how his proximity and touch was affecting her. His other hand settled on her arm and he stood far too close. She was supposed to be mad at him and yet all she wanted to do was pull him even closer. This was her problem; she wasn't entirely sure that she could resist Chuck even if he was a duplicitous asshole.

"Sarah," he said hoarsely. "You know I don't believe that. I've never believed that." Now it was his turn to make a soothing motion on her arm. "I've always believed in you."

"That's because you're an idiot," she said. There was no venom in her voice, just quiet exasperation.

"That may be, but…" Chuck trailed off and smiled at her. It even reached his eyes, temporarily displacing the pain that had been there only seconds ago. "A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool."

She scrunched her face up in confusion and unconsciously took a step closer. Chuck's warm breath kissed her cheek and she looked up into his dark brown eyes. She found herself holding her breath, and every few seconds she had to remind herself to breathe. "What are you saying, Chuck?" she whispered.

"All I'm saying is that with you, I know exactly what I'm doing."

Whatever spell that had descended over her with Chuck's close proximity dissipated with his words.

Sarah sighed and wished that the situation was different, that she still didn't need answers, and that she still wasn't sure Chuck could be trusted, because she seriously wanted to take him into one of Castle's dormitory suites and…she couldn't stop herself from flushing at the thoughts that suddenly popped into her head.

She shook her head slightly to clear her jumbled thoughts and made herself put some distance between the two of them. "That's kind of the problem though, isn't it? With me, you know _exactly_ what you're doing."

"Now I think it's my turn to ask what you're saying."

Sarah poked Chuck in the chest gently. "You know exactly what to say to me, how to act, to get me to do what you want. You have since day one."

"That's my job," Chuck admitted.

"Well, I hate it and I thought you said you were going to stop it."

"Sarah, there really are some things that I just can't tell you right now, but I swear to you that everything I do is done with your best interest in mind."

"And what, I'm just supposed to trust that that's true?"

"Yes."

Sarah shook her head and took a step back until she was leaning against the conference table. "I'm sorry, Chuck, but I can't do that. I'm not _wired_ that way."

Chuck sighed and closed his eyes. He swayed a bit in place and said, "I know."

"You need to tell me what's going on right now."

"Give me 72 hours, and I will tell you everything."

Sarah stared hard at Chuck, trying to detect any sign or tell that he was not on the level. With his eyes closed and his breathing labored, it was a bit difficult to pick up on any subtle hints, but something inside of her railed against her natural suspicion and cautiousness. It wanted her to trust him, to listen to him, to give him the benefit of the doubt. It demanded she give Chuck whatever he wanted. She had to ruthlessly squash that voice, that emerging part of her psyche that had so long been abandoned, in order not to leap into the situation blindly.

"Please, Sarah," Chuck pleaded. His eyes opened and he slowly walked toward her. He held his hands out to his side, like he was approaching a wild animal. "Look, the sooner you agree to give me those 72 hours, the sooner I can answer all your questions, and the sooner you'll be free of all the lies and half-truths to live your life however you want, on your terms, with whomever you choose."

Sarah blinked and tried to move further away from Chuck but couldn't. He was suckering her in, she knew that. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you can have everything you've always said you wanted."

She couldn't help but read his words as meaning that she could have _him_ if she wanted. Which she knew was undoubtedly his intention. Unfortunately, it was working. That _was_ what she wanted. She didn't care about the spy life, didn't care about the adventure—hell, she hadn't seen any "adventure" in years, didn't even remember what it was like—or the thrill of serving the greater good and saving lives. She was over that, had been over that for a long time. She just wanted a life; she wasn't particularly picky at this point in time what kind, as long as it was hers.

"72 hours?"

Chuck nodded his head.

"Why can't you tell me now? What does it matter if it's now or later?"

Chuck ran a still trembling hand tiredly across his face. "It just does."

Sarah pushed down the feelings of frustration his non-answer gave her and forced herself to grit out, "Then you'll tell me everything? About the Intersect, Carina, you?"

Chuck looked so relieved at her acquiescence that he gave her a blinding smile. She couldn't help it, her heart beat a little faster and she felt her face flush and she had to look away. Damn him and his smile.

"Cross my heart," Chuck said and made the subsequent motion over his chest.

Sarah stepped up to Chuck and grabbed his upper arm in a vice grip. She pulled him closer to her and pressed her knee into Chuck's crotch. Under other circumstances, her move might have been intimate and alluring, especially as she felt the hem of her skirt slide to mid-thigh, but Chuck's eyes immediately closed, not in pleasure but in pain, and he winced. She increased the pressure slightly, watching his face further contort in discomfort, and lowered her voice to a threatening growl. "I swear to God, Chuck Bartowski, if you are playing me and break this promise, you really will hope to die."

It was an empty threat, of course, but Chuck didn't need to know that.

Thankfully, if his reaction was any indication, he did not. His eyes burst open to almost comically wide size, his forehead looked moist, and his jaw was tense. He withered under her intense gaze. He was nothing like the normally confident man who had first introduced himself to her in her cell all those many months ago. For maybe the first time, there was genuine fear in his eyes. It was a little surprising, but she took solace in the fact that she had finally managed to find a chink in his armor.

She let him go and backed away, giving him his space. She had made her point. She only hoped he would follow through. If he screwed her this time, she was gone.

"I finally see it now," Chuck said.

"See what?"

"How scary you are," he said with a shaky grin.

Sarah smirked and smoothed her clothes. "Don't worry, Chuck, I promise to only get rough with you when you ask for it." Then she winked at him.

Chuck blushed then and fumbled for a chair, which he sat down in heavily. "Oh boy." He looked up at her, hand wiping across his forehead. "I think you may be too much for me, Sarah Walker."

She snorted in dry amusement and sat down in a chair right beside him. "You seem to handle Carina just fine."

Chuck laughed nervously and looked over his shoulder in the direction Carina had disappeared in. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't exactly 'handle' Carina." He turned back to look at her and shrugged his shoulders. "I mostly just buckle my seatbelt and hope I end up wherever we're going in one piece."

"I've noticed," Sarah said drily.

Chuck sighed and placed his hand on her shoulder. She immediately tensed up, but made herself relax and enjoy Chuck's touch. His fingers lightly caressed the skin of her neck, and she found herself leaning closer to him. "I'm really sorry for that, by the way," Chuck said. "I really wish you hadn't seen it, but then if you hadn't been there, it probably wouldn't have happened."

"Did you enjoy it," she asked. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer to her question, but she needed to know where she stood with Chuck.

Chuck grimaced and his fingers stilled. He sucked in a breath and then deflated. "It was…pleasant."

Sarah relaxed fully and actually smiled at Chuck. "Just pleasant?" Her eyes crinkled in amusement and she started to imagine all the different ways she could rub this news in Carina's face. "Oh she is going to love it when I tell her _that_ kiss was 'just pleasant'."

"Must you? Can't you just let it go?"

Sarah's amusement disappeared instantly and she growled out, "No."

Chuck slumped into his chair and his chin rested on his chest. "You two are never going to stop until one of you is dead, aren't you?"

Like hell she was ever going to stop. Carina needed to understand that Chuck was not up for grabs. He was _hers_. She'd been through Hell the last few months and she considered Chuck her reward for surviving. Well, reward was probably the wrong word for Chuck. She had feelings for Chuck, he wasn't just a prize to attain, an achievement to lord over Carina's head. No, she had real feelings, feelings she'd never felt before. She didn't understand them, didn't know how to make them go away or even if she wanted them to go away. All she knew was that they were there, they confused and infuriated and warmed her, and she wanted to explore them to their fullest.

Perhaps it was time she made it obvious to everyone involved just where she stood. Not that it wasn't fairly obvious already, but a definitive statement, especially to Chuck, would probably go a long way toward clearing up any potential confusion. After all, if Chuck really understood her feelings and actually reciprocated like he claimed, he wouldn't be letting Carina stick her tongue down his throat. She needed to let Chuck know she wouldn't put up with any more random encounters with other women.

It'd been a long time since she had anything approaching an exclusive arrangement with somebody; she wasn't even sure how it worked. She didn't exactly hold relationships, or even personal sexual relationships, in high esteem. What brief experience she had with them had always left her unfulfilled and wanting. And it had been far too long since sex held any real meaning for her. But when she looked at Chuck, when she _thought_ of Chuck, he brought a smile to her face and she felt many of those long dormant, long thought dead, feelings awaken. They gave her a sense of excitement and euphoria she couldn't describe. She wanted more of those feelings, wanted to feel them all the time, and she _knew_ that Chuck was the way to discovering that part of herself.

It was time he knew too.

"Oh I'll stop," Sarah said with a thin-lipped smile and took a deep breath. Here went nothing: "As soon as she acknowledges that you're mine and gives up, we will no longer have a problem."

Chuck smirked, his eyes temporarily displacing their omnipresent pain with mirth. "I'm yours, huh?"

Sarah nodded her head silently, not trusting herself to say anything at the moment, and stood up, pleased that her little confession had gone so smoothly. She grabbed his hand again and helped him out of his chair. She re-started her attempt to direct him to one of the dormitory suites.

After several seconds of silent, but slow, walking, Sarah finally said, "We need to get you to bed." She honestly was impressed by how he had been handling himself since getting shot. Even now, when she knew that the painkillers must have long worn off, he was still coherent, in control, and functional.

Chuck arched an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided grin. "Now, Sarah, I'm not that kind of boy. I mean, we haven't even been on a date yet."

Sarah rolled her eyes but couldn't stop herself from smiling. "You need rest, Chuck. You've been awake non-stop since Devon woke you up back at the house."

Chuck docilely followed her along, head down. "There's been no time to rest, too much to do. I really can't stop now," he said, but made no attempt to break free of her hold.

"Lucky for you, I'm a bit tired myself, so maybe we'll just nap together?"

Chuck came to a sudden halt, causing her to jerk backwards. "Can't, too much to do."

Sarah let go of Chuck's hand and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She just looked at Chuck, boring straight into his eyes. He avoided her piercing, unimpressed gaze and looked down at his feet. "I'm sorry, were you under the impression that you actually had a choice here?"

"Uh…"

"Because you don't. You're going to go into one of those rooms, you're going to lie down on one of those beds, and then you are going to sleep for at least two hours." Sarah grabbed Chuck's chin with a gentle grip and guided his head up so that he had no choice but to look at her. She tried to be stern but couldn't help the corners of her mouth turning upwards slightly. "I'm not exactly in an understanding mood right now since somebody decided to keep his mouth shut. So you will do what you're told, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Chuck mumbled.

"Good boy," Sarah said with a small smile. She slid her hand across Chuck's cheek, down to caress his neck briefly, which she noted with no small amount of satisfaction, caused him to shiver, and then trailed the tips of her fingers down the entire length of his arm before grabbing his wrist securely. She started walking again. "Now if you truly have something to do that must be done within the next two hours, tell me what it is and I'll take care of it for you. Otherwise, we are both going to get some rest."

"Together?" Chuck squeaked out, his eyes wide.

"What's a matter, Chuck, don't you want to sleep with me?" She wondered if she'd get the same reaction Carina had gotten when she'd asked Chuck the same exact question. She didn't know why she was suddenly in a teasing mood, especially after all the hemming and hawing Chuck had been doing and all the lying about the Intersect, but she couldn't help it, watching Chuck be out of sorts was fun. It was about time the tables were turned a bit.

"You're as bad as the other one," Chuck said with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't think you're not going to have to explain what's going on with her too."

"As if I could ever be that lucky," Chuck muttered under his breath. She pretended not to hear him and let it slide, but she did tighten her grip on his wrist.

# # # # #

Sarah helped Chuck into bed. She took off his shoes for him (he couldn't really sit up under his own power as the action would probably pull on his stitches), made sure he was comfortable, and then brushed some errant hair off his forehead. Chuck's eyes were closed and his breathing slightly erratic as she did her best to make him more comfortable.

It still worried her how clammy his skin was. She would have to find Devon after talking to Carina.

Well, Devon would probably have to look at Carina first, but then he could look at Chuck.

She started to move away but Chuck grabbed her arm before she could leave the bed. His eyes had remained closed the entire time and she was impressed by his situational awareness. It was the little things like that that had convinced her that Chuck was not as he seemed. "Wait, I thought you were going to join me?"

Sarah stared right at Chuck and deadpanned, "Oh. I guess I lied. Strange how that seems to happen a lot around here."

Chuck opened his eyes just to make a big show of rolling them at her. He opened his mouth as if he was going to speak, but decided to just press his lips together into a firm line. Satisfied that she had nipped the issue of her sleeping arrangements in the bud, she stood up and straightened her clothing.

She tried to look as stern as possible. "Now remember, two hours at least. I will be checking on you too."

Chuck tried to sit up a bit but she simply glared at him and he resumed his previous supine position. Still, as she was rapidly starting to learn, Chuck was stubborn as hell. "But Sarah, I really do have a lot to take care of; stuff that needs to be done right away."

"I told you, I'd take care of the Casey stuff. Nothing else is too important that it can't wait." She pushed Chuck back down flat when he tried to sit up yet again. "Now please rest," she pleaded in exasperation.

Chuck sighed and seemed to finally accept that he had no choice but to do what she said. Finally. She was afraid she'd have to resort to more drastic measure if he kept fighting her. He relaxed into the bed and closed his eyes. "You promise you'll wake me up in two hours?" he asked.

"I promise," she said. She probably intended to wake him up in two hours, but she was not above letting him sleep longer. He obviously needed it and a little lie every now and then never hurt anybody.

"Okay," he said sleepily.

He fell asleep almost immediately.

# # # # #

She found Casey in the first place she looked: the Armory.

"Do you live here?" she asked with a smirk, arms crossed in front of her chest. She was leaning against the door frame, watching Casey clean an M4.

"Do you have to be so annoying?" Casey responded back, eyes never leaving the broken down weapon. His hands moved at a rapid pace, clearly acting more out of muscle memory than conscious thought. "This is my happy place and you are seriously harshing my calm, Walker."

She didn't need to see his face to know he was sporting an impressive scowl. She wouldn't let herself rise to Casey's bait. She knew he was annoyed just by her presence. She could simply sit quietly in the room, never making a sound, and Casey would still have a problem with her being nearby. But she was going to be working with the man for the foreseeable future and such animosity just wasn't conducive to a functional working environment. It was in her best interest to at least develop an amicable professional relationship, even if she did hate his guts.

She could fake it with the best of them. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she'd faked something with a man.

"I've got a message for you from Chuck," she said in an even tone.

Casey grunted and began to methodically reassemble the M4. "And why couldn't our newly appointed fearless leader deliver the message himself?"

"He needs his rest so I put him in one of the rooms and made him sleep."

Casey grunted in what sounded like approval. "Good." Casey finished assembling the M4 and then racked the slide back repeatedly. "Moron doesn't know how to take care of himself."

"That sounds suspiciously like concern to me," she said with a slight smile.

"Kid's no use to anyone dead," Casey said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Right." She didn't really believe Casey's indifference for a second.

Casey ran a shami over the gun, putting the finishing touches on the M4. "Well?"

Sarah blinked and remembered she had gone in search of Casey for a reason and it was not to engage him in small talk. "Oh, right, sorry." She took a breath and walked into the dim, metallic smelling room. She wanted to see Casey's face when she delivered the message. She had no idea what the message meant and hoped she might glean something from Casey's reaction.

"Chuck said to tell you that Operation Serenity was a go, whatever that means." Casey went very still, even his hands stopped working the P229 that he had just started cleaning. Unfortunately, his head was down so seeing his face was out.

Still, Casey's reaction was telling. Whatever was happening had to be big to cause Casey to have such a visible reaction.

"Did he say when?"

"He said tomorrow night."

Casey swore loudly and colorfully. "That stupid idiot," he added for good measure. "Did the dumbass give a reason?"

Sarah frowned; she really didn't like the implications behind Casey's words. Just what was Chuck getting himself into? "He told me to tell you when you got upset that he made a promise and he only had three days to do what he needed to do."

"Wonderful," Casey snarled. "He's already thinking with his mini-Chuck instead of what meager amount of intelligence he has when it comes to you."

"What is going on?" Sarah asked. "Chuck won't tell me anything and now you are freaking out." She let some of her frustration leak into her voice. "I just want to know what's happening."

Casey ignored her as always. "Look, Walker, if you care about Bartowski even a little, you will tell the idiot that whatever promise he made to you, it's okay if he breaks it."

"Why?"

"Because if he doesn't, he'll probably die and you'll be responsible." Then Casey got up from the table, swiftly policed his work station and started for the Armory exit.

"Hey," she shouted. "Where are you going?"

"To tell Larkin the timetable has been moved up and he needs to be prepared. If we're really going to do this now, he needs to be ready to go at any moment."

"Why won't anyone tell me what's going on?" Sarah asked the now empty room.

# # # # #

She had tried to follow Casey, asking him question after question, but he had simply ignored her and manhandled Larkin into one of the private offices, locking the door and preventing her from listening. Unable to get anything out of Casey, she went in search of the only other person who might know what was going on: Carina.

She had searched throughout the Castle facility for the elusive and annoying red head, but had been unable to find her. It was not until she decided to double back and check the second private office again out of frustration (it had been empty when she first began her search) that she found her target.

Surprisingly, the door was unlocked. Sucking in a deep breath, knowing that whatever happened in the next 10 minutes, it wouldn't be pleasant, she opened the door. She quickly stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

Carina was sitting at a desk, staring at the large video monitor in front of her, and appeared to be in deep thought. Or at least as deep as Carina was capable of, which Sarah didn't think was all that deep. The monitor was blank. Carina didn't show any awareness of her presence.

Sarah stood silent for several seconds, waiting for Carina to acknowledge her. When the red head did not, she mentally shrugged her shoulders and said firmly, "We need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you," Carina said, her face still staring at the blank monitor.

"Fine, then you can just listen."

Carina made no outward sign that she was even paying attention, but she made no move to stop her from speaking either, so she took that as assent to continue.

"I am here because of Chuck," Sarah stated. She was still highly uncomfortable at voicing her true feelings in such a definitive manner, especially to someone like Carina, but she recognized that sometimes it was necessary to be unambiguous. "Without Chuck, I have no reason to stick around as I don't give a crap about your plan to infiltrate Fulcrum."

Carina snorted and continued to stare. "Not really caring right now."

Sarah was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with the red head that she couldn't tear her eyes away from the video monitor.

Sarah clenched her fists and had to take a step back after she had reflexively taken a step forward. The urge to launch herself at Carina and wrap her hands around the other woman's neck was difficult to battle down. Flashes of her smashing the bitch's face into her desk flitted across her thoughts. Only Carina could inspire such extremely violent fantasies.

"My point," Sarah said through clenched teeth, "is that you need me now. Without me, whatever plan you've got running doesn't work."

"Is that right?"

"Yes, that's right," Sarah said confidently. She wasn't exactly sure if she was right, but right now, putting on as confident an air as possible was all that mattered.

"And what does any of this have to do with me?"

Sarah snorted and tried to relax. If she continued to tense up like she was, she'd have no choice but to do something, if for no other reason than to release the tension. "Don't play coy, Carina, it really doesn't suit you."

"Who's playing?"

"Are you really trying to tell me that you have no interest in Chuck at all?"

Carina chuckled and flicked her hair a bit, leaning on one elbow as she played with a file on the desk in front of her. "Oh I have plenty of interest in Chuck."

"And that's a problem."

"Chuck is my friend, Blondie. I'm watching out for him, protecting him. _That's_ my interest."

"You expect me to believe that's your only motivation?" Sarah walked closer to Carina; she wanted to grab the other woman and shake her until Carina admitted the truth. It was obvious that the red head had real feelings for Chuck. Sarah just wanted Carina to admit it. They'd never find any kind of common ground until they laid all their cards on the table. "If that's true, then what was with the kiss earlier?"

Carina shrugged her shoulders. "I was hoping to piss you off."

"Well, it worked. I don't think Chuck was very happy with you either."

"He'll get over it. It's not like it's the first time I've sprung something like that on him."

"Well, whatever the reason for why you're doing it, it needs to stop. I know you have feelings for Chuck and so do I. But if you have any hope of ever completing your all important mission, you need to back off," Sarah said in a rush. She hated talking about things she really didn't understand, and talking about her emotions definitely qualified.

"So what you're saying, if I'm hearing you right, is that in order for you to cooperate, I need to leave Chuck alone?" Carina asked.

"That's exactly right," Sarah said definitively. She couldn't help adding, "See, I knew there was more to you than just being a slutty bitch."

Whoops. She probably shouldn't have let that thought slip out.

Carina only chuckled, though, and finally looked at her. "Sorry, Blondie, but I called dibs on Chuck long before your artificially enhanced," Carina paused just long enough to make sure Sarah knew what part of her body the red head was talking about before continuing on, "flat ass ever showed up."

"I do NOT have a flat ass," Sarah immediately defended, despite the voice in her head telling her to keep her mouth shut. She couldn't believe that this was what they were arguing about now, or how easily she always seemed to let herself get drawn in by Carina.

"Ah, but you don't deny a little extra up top, huh?" Carina said with a smirk. "I knew they looked a little too perfect."

"What?" Sarah spluttered. "No!" God damn it, she hated how easily Carina could make her flustered.

But as usual with Carina, the woman was already on a different train of thought. "Sorry, babe, but all's fair in love and war and this is both."

"I'm really trying to be nice right now, but you're not making it easy."

"Aw, poor baby," Carina cooed sarcastically. The red head turned in her chair and faced her. "You going to just cry about it or are you actually going to do something for once?" Carina stood up and walked right up to her, clearly taunting her.

Sarah desperately wanted to smack the smug look off of Carina's face, but she settled for clenching her fingers into white-knuckled fists. "Pretty sure the things I want to do to you would end up with me back in my cell or worse."

"Oooo, kinky," Carina smirked. "I'm sure Chuck wouldn't mind as long as we taped it."

"You're disgusting," Sarah snapped.

"Oh come off it. I've seen parts of your file. You've probably dropped more panties than any man here. Hell, Bryce is kind of a slut and you could still give him a run for his money."

"That was for the job," Sarah immediately defended, "not for me. I didn't do it because I liked it, I did it because I had to in order to complete my mission. That was all. None of that was for me," she repeated insistently.

God, the thought of Chuck truly finding out what she had really done in her past terrified her and the last thing she needed was Carina running off to him and blabbing in his ear about how terrible her past was, about the things she had done, about the people she had seduced and then left in a pool of their own blood.

Her hands on her hips, Carina's face transformed from her taunting smirk to coldly hostile. "It amazes me that Chuck could be interested in somebody that would literally spread her legs at the snap of a finger as long as it was 'for the job'," Carina sneered. "Do you not have any standards at all? I mean, some of the men that you let touch you…" Carina shuddered and looked sick. "You're nothing more than a government whore."

"You're a hypocrite," Sarah snapped. "You told me what you used to do in the DEA. And at least I don't have to fuck random men so that I can pretend they are the man I really want," Sarah responded back with. "Tell me, Carina, just how bad a lay were you that Chuck would rather go years without sex than give you another shot?"

Carina's reaction to Sarah's statement was immediate: a hard slap across the face.

Sarah brought a hand up to her right cheek and gingerly probed the area with her finger. She knew going for Carina's one big weakness would provoke a reaction and she got exactly what she wanted. She gave Carina a tight smile and said, "I was hoping you'd do that."

Then, before Carina could respond or even act, Sarah jabbed the other woman hard in the stomach. Carina doubled over slightly as air whooshed out of her mouth and Sarah sprung forward like a darting bee. She did not hit with the same force as she used to—she would have to make arrangements to start hitting the gym as soon as possible—but she hit hard enough.

Sarah closed the distance between herself and Carina and followed up her jab to Carina's stomach with a second jab to the woman's abdomen. Carina sagged, heading toward the floor, and Sarah grabbed her, swung the red head around, and shoved her against the nearest wall.

When Carina tried to lunge forward to go on the offensive, Sarah hit a glancing blow against Carina's jaw. It was enough to stun the woman and Sarah exploited Carina's disorientation to immobilize her and press her against the wall.

Sarah used her forearm to press down on Carina's throat mercilessly. Carina's eyes went wide and she started clawing at her arm, but Sarah simply leaned forward and increased the pressure.

She continued pressing down until she figured Carina had had enough. She leaned forward, most of her body pressed against Carina's and whispered in a tight voice, "I'm tired of fighting with you. Chuck doesn't want to be with you. Get over it."

Sarah removed her arm from Carina's throat and put both palms flat against the wall on either side of Carina's head. The red head swallowed repeatedly and sucked in big gulps of air. She tried to speak but nothing came out.

Finally, Carina said hoarsely, "Are you as turned on as I am right now?"

Sarah pushed away from Carina with a huff of frustration. "You're unbelievable!" she growled, throwing her hands up into the air. She started to pace, occasionally glaring at Carina nastily.

"What?" Carina said innocently. "It was just a simple question." And despite the fact that Carina was rubbing her throat gingerly, that her face was red and her breathing fast, the woman still had her trademark smirk firmly in place.

"I hate you," Sarah mumbled, too exasperated to give the words much heat.

"Jesus, a simple no would have sufficed," Carina said as she was straightening her clothes.

"Don't tell me you're disappointed," Sarah remarked.

Carina shrugged her shoulders and smiled enigmatically. "Eh…a little, but I'll live."

Sarah could only roll her eyes in response. "Don't think you can distract me from what we really need to talk about. We need to deal with this stuff between us once and for all and come to an understanding."

Carina still rubbed her throat absently but she no longer seemed to be in obvious pain. "Real simple, Blondie, you go away and leave Chuck alone. I'll even help you escape Beckman's claws."

"Wow, you're so generous," Sarah deadpanned.

"I know, aren't I?"

"I have a counterproposal."

"I'm listening."

"You stop fighting me and I'll stop fighting you. While on the clock, we work together, and when we're off, we go our separate ways."

Carina nodded her head slowly, like she was genuinely listening. "And?"

Sarah sighed and tried to ignore how much pain it caused her to say her next words. "And if you will back off pursuing Chuck and sabotaging me at every turn, I will concede that you have a special relationship with Chuck and not interfere in your friendship."

"Huh…"

"That's all you have to say? 'Huh?'" Sarah asked in angry disbelief.

"Unbunch, Blondie, I'm thinking."

"What is there to think about? This fighting is stupid. We can't keep doing it."

"At least not in front of the others," Carina agreed.

"Especially Chuck," Sarah said in acknowledgement.

"So what do you suggest?"

Sarah shrugged her shoulders and said offhandedly, "Look, if you're not interested in my deal, I guess we could always flip a coin."

"You'd leave Chuck up to a coin flip?"

Sarah rolled her eyes at Carina's stupid question. "Of course not, it was just a stupid joke."

"Boy, you really do have a shitty sense of humor," Carina remarked, a wry grin on her face. "Besides, flipping a coin is ridiculous. This situation obviously calls for rock-paper-scissors." Carina suddenly leaned forward, her arms outstretched, one hand clenched into a fist and resting in the palm of her other hand. "Best two out of three wins."

Sarah snorted and relaxed just a bit, some of the tension easing from the air between her and Carina. Changing the path of the conversation slightly, she said, "Back at the house, you seemed to accept things. What the hell happened?"

Carina shrugged her shoulders. "New assignment."

"What? Beckman ordered you to be a bitch?"

"Sorry, Walker, I'm afraid my bitchiness is hard-coded into my DNA."

"What's the assignment?" Sarah asked, not wanting to get side tracked. If Carina said that her new assignment was to seduce Chuck, she was going to scream. Then kill somebody; preferably Beckman.

"Beckman no longer trusts me to lead the project because my objectivity has been 'compromised'," Carina said with clear disdain and the liberal use of air quotes. She added a roll of her eyes for good measure. "Stupid bureaucratic nonsense, but whatever." Carina took a breath and then continued on, "So it was either accept a new duty assignment here, which would essentially be a demotion, or choose a transfer to some shithole like Uzbekistan while I 'cleared my head'," Carina sneered in contempt. "You can obviously see what I chose."

"That's all well and good, Carina, but what's the damn assignment?" Sarah was getting impatient with the red head's stalling.

Carina grinned wide. "I'm Chuck's new personal protection detail."

Sarah could feel her stomach drop out of her body and settle around her feet. She knew exactly what that meant. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Sorry, Blondie, but I'm being completely straight with you on this one."

"That's fucking bullshit," Sarah snarled.

"What can I say?" Carina smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "I'll make sure to send you an e-vite for the house warming party."

"I can do that job just as well," Sarah protested.

Carina laughed. "If you think the General would trust you like that, you're crazy."

"Why? What's the big deal? Larkin is the one that's the Intersect."

"Chuck is important too," Carina said. It was all she said and the familiar feeling of frustration always cropped up when trying to get information out of Chuck or anyone else on his team arrived.

"Then who protects Bryce?"

"Bryce is an agent, he takes care of himself."

"And so is Chuck, so again, why does he get bodyguards?" Why wouldn't somebody just give her a freaking straight answer!?

"Chuck is a different kind of agent, and that's all you need to know right now, Walker," Carina said in an even tone.

"You know, that's what Chuck said. It's what Casey said. And now it's what you've said. But it's all just nonsense. How can I help, how can I do my job, if I don't know anything?"

Carina laughed, but the laugh was hollow and void of any real amusement. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Blondie?"

Some of the anger that she thought had dissipated since attacking Carina, coalesced back inside of her. Carina was mocking her and she was not in the mood to be mocked. "Figured out what?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"That you know nothing is precisely why you're here."

* * *

**Next Chapter:** _Denial and Acceptance_ - Short chapter coming up. Only two scenes. One of them Charah. Should be fun.


	22. Denial and Acceptance

**Author's Note**: Hey look, guys! It only took me a month to update this time. :P Sorry for the long delay, boy it sounds like I'm a broken record, but honestly, I have been so disappointed with this season that it's really hard for me to get up the motivation to write fic anymore. The only reason I'm even trying to stay with this story is because you guys have been so awesome. Like I said before, I will finish this story, I just can't promise I'll do it in a timely manner. Chuck vs. The Beard certainly helped in motivating me to complete this chapter though. Best episode since Nacho Sampler. Still had a lot of flaws, like the fact that they apparently forgot Fake Name even happened, but compared to the rest of the episodes this season, Beard was a freakin' masterpiece.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone for your continued support even if I haven't been keeping up my end of the bargain. I want to single out **twwt** for being my 100th favorite! Thank you!

Thanks must go out to the usual suspects: **Wepdiggy** for a lot of help with the Sarah scene. My buddy may be in the same place I am when it comes to fic, but he knows his stuff. And of course to **moo**, for her quick beta and for not laughing at my attempt to write the, as she calls them, love-sick teenagers.

Oh, and on a side note, if you guys want to read a very well written (better written story than this, that's for sure) AU that re-imagines the Team Bartowski origin story, then I highly recommend reading **Frea O'Scanlin's** _What Fates Impose_. It's pretty damn amazing, has great detail and characterization, is hilarious, and best of all for you guys, I'm sure, she updates on a fairly regular schedule. So go and read, if you're not already doing so. You won't regret it.

* * *

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Sarah asked with a frown. She didn't understand what Carina was talking about. Her ignorance is what made her valuable?

Carina chuckled slightly and flipped her hair in what was a very flippant manner as she marched over to the desk. "God, you're dense, Blondie. How the hell did you ever make it as an agent?"

"Carina," Sarah said in a warning tone, trying to keep her temper in check. It was always two steps forward, one giant step back with her and Carina. Just when she thinks they are coming to an understanding, something happens that sends them tumbling back down the hill. She really did want to make an effort to keep the peace between the two, but with Carina making comments like that, it was next to impossible.

Carina waved a hand with a dismissive gesture and sighed. "Look, Walker, you don't know anything. That means you can't say anything either."

"Who am I going to tell?"

Carina sat back down at her desk and turned on the television display attached to the wall in front of her. She tapped a few keys on a keyboard and suddenly an image appeared on the screen. It was a picture of a man, bald and severe looking, with penetrating dark eyes.

Carina started speaking, "We have no idea who he is. Bryce says he's not in the Intersect, but we suspect from what we've learned over the last few years, that he is some kind of special operative for Fulcrum. Have you seen him before?"

Sarah stared hard at the bald man's picture, even going so far as to squint. There was a vague familiarity there, like she should know the man, but can't recall his name. She shook her head and said, "I have no idea who he is."

Carina harrumphed with a frown and then tapped her fingernails atop the desk. "Figures."

"What does this have to do with you keeping me in the dark?"

"We believe that Baldie is the head of Fulcrum's Intersect retrieval team."

That made sense. Despite her relatively high position within Fulcrum's hierarchy, she had never really been able to make inroads into some of their more special access projects. Of course, she had always considered the Intersect a fairytale and unworthy of her time, so she had never looked all that closely at that part of Fulcrum's operation.

"So you think that he'll be there when I come in?"

"We do and we want you to learn as much about him as you can."

Sarah simply nodded her head. That was a mission she had been given many times in the past. It was a simple formula: Identify mark, get close to mark, seduce mark, retrieve information, and if necessary, eliminate mark. It was so second nature to her that already she was planning in her mind how she'd get close to the bald man and learn what he knew.

Carina, though, was already moving onto the next topic of conversation. Not for the first time, Sarah was amazed at the speed with which the red head thought.

"When they grab you, what do you think they're going to do?" Carina asked, her eyes fixed on the bald man's picture.

Dawning realization bloomed in Sarah's head as pieces finally started falling into place. She didn't know why she hadn't clued into it all before. "They are going to interrogate me, obviously."

"Exactly. Intersect or not, you were still off-grid for months. They are not going to just take your word for it. They are going to want to know where you've been, who you've seen and who you've talked to. They'll want to know everything and that's precisely what you're going to tell them."

Sarah started to pace, the fingers of her right hand absent-mindedly fiddling with the hem of her suit jacket. "So what, you're keeping me in the dark so I don't unintentionally tell them anything important?"

"What you don't know, you can't confess," Carina said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And after all, if you are on the level, what do you have to hide?"

"But that could just make them even more suspicious," Sarah protested. The ignorant said nothing, for they had nothing to say, and the deceitful answered quickly, for they had everything to hide. Sarah knew that was how it worked, or at least, that's how her Fulcrum interrogators would think.

Carina smirked slightly, her stormy eyes shrouded in enigmatic mirth. "Trust me, that's been taken care of."

Carina tapped a few more keys and the video display went dark. She stood up and faced Sarah. "For once, Blondie, your job is to simply tell the truth."

Casey's warning popped into her head and she found herself blurting out, "What about Chuck?"

Carina arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "What about him?"

"Will they ask me questions about Chuck?"

"They will undoubtedly ask questions about everything, and yes, Chuck will come up."

A thrill of panic shot through Sarah's system and her eyes widened slightly. "And what am I supposed to say then? I know his real name!"

"Guess you'll just have to lie then, won't you?" Carina said indifferently.

"But you just told me not to lie," Sarah said weakly.

Carina's tone surprised her; she sounded completely unconcerned. Which really only meant one thing: Carina was still hiding stuff from her. There was obviously something she wasn't sharing. There must have been contingency plans in place, as there was no other way Carina would be so cavalier about Chuck's safety.

Sarah figured the most likely options why Carina wouldn't be concerned about her interrogation were either she knew what they were going to ask, which would mean Carina was probably Fulcrum, or Team Bartowski had somebody inside Fulcrum feeding them intel. Was it possible she was not the only double they were running inside Fulcrum? But if they had another agent already embedded, what did they need her for? She shook her head, knowing it was pointless to speculate right now. Speculating would distract her, would fill her mind with possibilities, when she should be concentrating. Her life, and possibly Chuck's life, depended on her keeping a clear head. But she would keep an eye on Carina just to be safe.

"You look like shit, Blondie," Carina said out of the blue. "You should get some rest before things get really crazy."

"I guess I can't get you to tell me anything more?"

Carina chuckled quietly and shook her head, her long red hair tossing about. "Nope."

Sarah sighed heavily and nodded her head in acceptance. Of course not, because that would probably make things too easy.

"Oh and Blondie…"

Sarah stopped herself from walking through the office door and looked over her shoulder to see an utterly serious look on Carina's face. "Yeah?"

"I know I've made a lot of threats to you since you had the wonderful fortune of meeting me, but watch yourself. Because if you screw this up, and Chuck gets hurt, I will find you, and when I do, I will carve you up with a butter knife, piece by piece, until you're small enough to feed to the cats outside my apartment."

Sarah simply stared at Carina for several loaded seconds and then walked out the door.

# # # # #

Sarah looked at herself in the mirror and realized that Carina was right. She had done her best to hide the bags under her eyes when she had initially gotten dressed, but it was easy to see that she was tired. Her eyes were beginning to go bloodshot and it was hard to stop yawning.

She spun around in her seat and looked behind her at the currently occupied bed. After her meeting with Carina, she had come straight back to Chuck's temporary room. She needed to check on him, make sure he was still asleep, and truth be told, she just needed to be close to him.

She got up from her chair and walked to the bed. She stopped by the side and looked down. Chuck was asleep on his back, his arms held tightly to his sides. Some hair had flopped down across his forehead and she suddenly had an irresistible urge to brush it away. The movement would wake Chuck though and he needed his rest, so after reaching out, she quickly pulled her hand back. She crossed her arms in front of her chest just to be on the safe side.

He looked peaceful. There was nothing of the earlier anguish on his face.

He was a good looking man. Certainly not the best she had ever seen, and she had seen many good looking men, men who thought their looks were all that were necessary to maneuver her into bed. Sadly, due to the nature of her job, they were often right. That was the business and she had long ago accepted that. But Chuck was different. For one, in all the time she had known him, he had never pushed her for sex. He had barely even hinted at it. It was invigorating and supremely frustrating all at the same time. She actually wanted to have sex with him. It had been ages since she could say that about another person, but with Chuck, it was true.

If only she could figure out some way to make it happen. He needed to know how she felt. He needed to understand what she had to offer. It was not much, would probably never be enough, but she could certainly do her best to outclass all future women for him in the bedroom. At least she'd be able to claim that part of him as purely her own.

She sighed and again had to fight the urge to touch him.

She should leave. She had made sure he wasn't awake. She had done her job. There was no real reason for her to stay. She shouldn't stay. He might wake up and what would he think if he found her looming over him? He'd probably freak out. Think that she was plotting his demise.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Sarah sighed and ran her hand through her hair agitatedly. She shifted in place, took a hesitant step forward, then back. It was stupid. Wanting to climb into bed with him was stupid. She hated sleeping with another person, didn't like how vulnerable it made her. She couldn't even remember the last time she had shared a bed with anybody, and whoever it was had probably been a mark. She never stayed around her one-night stands long enough to fall asleep.

She groaned in frustration and felt like tearing her hair out. She was being ridiculous, acting like deciding to sleep with Chuck—just sleep and nothing else—was on the same level as her decision to join the CIA or make her first kill or join Fulcrum. It was nothing, really, insignificant even. She was just going to make herself comfortable—_and susceptible to the whims of another person_. Sarah shook her head. Chuck wouldn't hurt her. She was sure of it; surer of the fact than anything else in her life. Her eyes lingered on his sleeping body and then she shook her head again.

This was stupid, just so incredibly stupid.

She spun on her heel and marched for the door. She was going to go find her own bed and take a nap. She didn't need Chuck's. Just the thought of him waking up and finding her in bed with him opened a chasm in her stomach. The thought terrified her and thrilled her all at the same time. It was not worth the risk.

She grabbed the door handle and turned it. The door began to swing inward and she stopped.

No.

She took a deep breath and shut the door.

She turned around and walked back into the room. Methodically she removed her suit jacket and placed it neatly on the single chair in the room. Next, she removed her shoulder holster and carefully safed her P229. Once that was set aside, she unbuttoned her shirt and folded it neatly, leaving her in only a simple, utilitarian light beige bra. She took a deep breath and attempted to calm her rapidly beating heart. She couldn't believe she was doing this.

She kicked off her heels and then unzipped her skirt. She slipped it off and placed it beside her shirt. Now wearing a plain pair of cotton panties, she tried not to think too hard about how it probably wasn't completely necessary for her to strip down for what she was about to do. The only justification she had—that she didn't want her clothes to horribly wrinkle—seemed extremely weak and specious, and was certainly not a good enough excuse for anyone who would see her in bed with Chuck wearing her current attire.

She set her jaw and walked determinedly to the bed. She didn't care what anyone else thought. She was not going to let them dictate her actions.

She climbed onto the bed near Chuck's uninjured side and nimbly moved under the covers. She held her breath as Chuck suddenly shifted and she was filled with an irrational fear that he was waking up and wondered what the hell she was doing. When he stopped moving and settled back down on his back, she sighed in relief and realized how dumb she was being. She was already in his bed, nearly naked; Chuck waking up at this point was probably a foregone conclusion, it was a little late to be worrying about it now.

Sarah wriggled right up to Chuck and slowly laid her head on his chest, her arm across his middle. She let out a contented sigh as she instantly felt herself relaxing despite how much she was fighting the urge. Suddenly a strong arm wrapped around her back and she went rigid in panic. Was Chuck waking up?

She opened her eyes to look at his face, and was relieved to see his eyes still closed and his breathing even. He was just adjusting to her presence, that's all, she made herself believe.

She closed her eyes again and thought that sleeping with another person in the same bed wasn't that bad after all.

Sarah was soon asleep.

* * *

So what happens next? A good question. This chapter, short though it may be, signifies the end of the middle arc. Next chapter will start the final arc of this story: the Fulcrum arc. Now I think you all can guess what this arc will be about just by looking at the name. I know a lot of you have been clamoring for some plot progression, some action, and seeing Sarah do more than just fawn over Chuck. You will get your wish, and in a big way. This middle arc was necessary to set the table, if you will, and the Fulcrum arc will be your meal. What does this mean? What can you expect? There will be a date, there will be a family dinner, there will be a death, there will be crying, there will be killing, and there will be sex. Who participates in these events, though, will be a mystery for now.


	23. Intersections in Real Time

**Author's Note**: Let it never be said that when **mxpw** makes a guarantee, **mxpw** doesn't follow through. I guaranteed a chapter today, and lo and behold, look at that. Those of you who know me know why it's taken me so long to update this story, but I promised that I would finish this sucker if it was the last thing I did, so I will. I just hope everybody remembers it. I'm going to do my best to update this faster, but no promises. Really, you all should thank the lovely **Frea O'Scanlin** for the fact that this chapter mutated out of the creative ooze that is my brain like a ninja turtle.

Speaking of **Frea**, by now most of you should know about _What Fates Impose_ (best story evah!). Like _Double Agent_ and myself, she and it have been nominated several times in the Second Annual Awesome Awards. Normally, I'd never do this because I am a vain man, jealous of all those more successful than me, but I urge you, when the time comes, to reward **Frea** for all her monumental efforts. She deserves to win, my friends. So vote for her!

And yes, I owe a big thanks to **Frea** for her beta work on this chapter. Not only was I rusty, but she taught me many things about how to improve my craft. She is a harsh mistress, but a fun one too, if you know what I mean. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Oh, before I forget, she also told me I should warn you about this chapter, and since she is the boss, well, here is your warning: Pay attention! Things may seem confusing at times so you better read carefully.

* * *

The lions sing and the hills take flight.

The moon by day, and the sun by night.

Blind woman, deaf man, jackdaw fool.

Let the Lord of Chaos rule.

- _Lord of Chaos_, Robert Jordan

* * *

This was becoming a disturbingly common trend. At least this time, she still had her clothes on. Unfortunately, she couldn't always say that was true (in fact, it often wasn't).

The black sackcloth was roughly yanked from Sarah's head. She blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim lighting of the room as she came to full consciousness. It really sucked waking up in a strange place. You became instantly on edge, your heart sped up, your body started to secrete adrenaline, and you became jittery at the slightest provocation. Only years of training and conditioning prevented the natural fight or flight response from kicking in.

She was not alone (which again, was disturbingly common). That became obvious to her even before she regained full control over her senses. So she partitioned her mind, half on clearing her head, the other half on building a picture in her mind of her surroundings. Immediately she extended her perceptions outward, listening for breathing, rustling clothes, or shifting feet, anything to give her a count of how many people were in the room with her.

She heard faint breathing from behind her and the creak of a chair in front of her. The light of the room was still burning, so she squinted her eyes as she tried to get a good look. There was an awful taste in her mouth.

The inside of the cloth bag had not been clean and detritus had migrated into her mouth. She spluttered her tongue and smacked her lips. She did her best to dispel the annoying and disgusting flakes of dirt and coarse hair. She didn't want to know what they had used the cloth for earlier, but whatever it was, it was gritty and earthy.

She clenched her teeth and balled her hands into fists, her wrists flexing against the binds holding her hands in place behind her back. She tried to wriggle her fingers to get the blood flowing but the wrist ties made the move nearly impossible.

Sarah widened her eyes to slits and slowly blinked, her dirty eyelashes kissing her cheek with each flutter. Slowly, her eyes adjusted and she looked around her surroundings with hooded, cautious eyes.

It was a dark room with pale stone walls and sparse recessed lighting. She didn't know if Fulcrum was having problems paying its utilities bill, but she was grateful that what little lighting there was, barely seemed to function.

The room seemed to be surprisingly clean, but its appearance warred with its smell. The room stank of sweat and sickness and blood. The air itself was fetid and there was a faint hint of something ineffable, like it was artificial but she wasn't sure how. Some instinct—or maybe it was the years of experience of spending time in rooms just like this one—told her that the air in the room didn't come by its smell naturally. For some reason, Fulcrum had gone to the trouble of pumping the stink into the room. Fortunately for her, this was not her first interrogation chamber and she was already blocking the smell from her mind. Soon, she wouldn't even notice it.

It was all an obvious attempt to create a sense of foreboding, and Sarah couldn't help thinking that she was in some kind of simulated dungeon. It was all so cliché. Fulcrum had always been unoriginal. At least her hole back at the CIA facility had been a little more dank pit than carefully designed torture chamber meant to psychologically intimidate her. At least her hole had had style.

Her survey of the room complete, she swung the bulk of her attention to appraising its occupants.

Two men were in front of her. One she recognized, the other she did not.

The man on the left was bald and perpetually frowning, his pate reflecting the low light of the room. It was the same bald man from the picture that Carina had showed her earlier. The same man that had introduced himself to her when she had been first brought in two—three?—days ago.

She still didn't know his name—he had declined to give it when he welcomed her to the facility—but that was irrelevant. He was her target. She barely glanced at the man on the right, sitting on a chair next to a cart covered with electronic equipment. There was a second chair directly in front of him.

Right away, she sized the bald man up, searching for weaknesses. She had not had time to analyze him before, still too woozy from the effects of the tranquilizer dart.

The bald man was roughly six feet tall, and from the looks of him, comprised primarily of muscle. From the way he stood, she surmised that he was self-assured and confident.

It was his eyes that let her know the man was dangerous. They were cold and precise; they didn't waver, they didn't search about the room because he was too bored to focus, they locked onto her and never moved. He was a true professional; a killer. Fulcrum had so few of those that it was a bit of a shock to see one in front of her now.

It would take considerable concentration from her not to screw up.

She was terrified, absolutely scared out of her mind, but it wasn't fear for herself that made her blood hum inside her body and the skin between her shoulder blades sweat and her thin T-shirt stick. It was fear for Chuck and fear for a life that she may never have a chance at living.

She forced herself to take another deep breath. She could do this. Chuck was depending on her and she had promised not to let him down. She would keep him safe. That was her mission. And she did not fail her assignments. She was the best for a reason.

Fulcrum would get nothing from her that they were not supposed to get.

"Please have a seat," the bald man said in a cool, measured voice. He had a slight accent, one she couldn't quite place. His eyes continued to stare at her with unnerving tenacity.

She didn't move. She just turned her head and did her best to look down at her bound hands. When she looked back up, there was the faintest hint of a smirk on the bald man's face.

He gave a slight nod of his head and the two men, one on either side of her, that had accompanied her into the room, forced her into the waiting chair. She sat down with a grimace, her arms jarred against the metal back of the chair.

The position brought back memories of her time in her hole, particularly of when Casey would visit her for his daily interrogation session. She barely stopped herself from shuddering. Showing weakness now would be the worst possible mistake.

She forced herself to simply sit calmly, to not let her pain show. Internally, she might have been a roiling cauldron of fear and apprehension, but externally, she did her best to present the icy exterior of the Fulcrum agent she used to be. No. That wasn't true. Despite everything Chuck had done to convince her, to _tame her_, as Carina would say, she knew it wasn't. She did her best to become the Fulcrum agent she still _was_. Her eyes were as clear as they could be, and with every second, she became more herself as her earlier disorientation disappeared. She sat up straight, her back popping and aching, but didn't react. She was imperious and stoic.

Nothing could affect her. She was invulnerable. She was empty. She was nothing but a hull, a shell of a woman that had once been Sarah Walker. If she wanted to survive her interrogation, what little part of Sarah Walker, the woman that had come to know Chuck Bartowski, must be buried. Erased and forgotten. For now, she had to be Emma Frost. For now, she had to not care.

She remembered back to the day of her capture, the day she had manipulated Tommy into doing her bidding. She had easily terrified that room of Fulcrum operatives. With a mere glance, an arch of her eyebrow, a quirk of her lips, she had made them all jump at her soft-spoken commands.

She locked eyes on the bald man and dared him to blink first.

"It seems you provide quite the conundrum, Agent Walker," the bald man said in his measured clip.

"I'm sorry I'm so inconvenient," Sarah replied, her voice hoarse. She had tried to speak normally, but her mouth was simply far too parched to make that possible.

"To be honest and forthright with you, my superiors would prefer I simply put a bullet in your head and let the matter rest."

"Ironically enough, I do appreciate honesty in a man," Sarah said.

The bald man ignored her quip and continued, "Unfortunately, that is simply not an option."

Sarah just nodded her head and again tried to adjust her hands to a more comfortable position. Even if she could get free, she wouldn't do anything. Her part was not to break free and escape, her part was to convince them of her loyalty. She only wanted to be more comfortable; and to banish the images of her last interrogation from her mind.

"I assume you're here to interrogate me."

"That is correct. As much as they wish they could kill you, they also recognize your value. Delivering the Intersect impressed them. They are willing to give you another chance," the bald man said. "As long as you cooperate."

Then he nodded his head and before Sarah could properly react, she felt a sharp prick on her neck. Instantly, her head felt heavy, her eyes started to droop, and her thoughts slowly began to disseminate.

She did her best to fight it, to throw up the roadblocks she'd been trained to construct while under chemical interrogation, but it was hard. Maybe if Chuck and his team hadn't subjected her to countless days of mind-altering chemicals, her resistance would be stronger. But her mind was exhausted and her body weak.

She had not eaten in days, could feel the hollowness in her stomach gnawing away at her energy. It seemed like her stomach rumbled every five seconds or so, and every joint in her body ached from dehydration. She could barely walk under her own power, and any movement at all was like a thousand tiny chisels carving away at her body. It was quite a feat she could even concentrate as much as she was.

It was no wonder the drug hit her so quickly.

Her tongue suddenly felt two sizes too big. She smacked her lips. There was a very odd, vaguely sweet taste settled on the back of her throat. It was a taste she'd never experienced before and it made her mind frustratingly muddled. What was that taste? She tried to speak and it took her several attempts before she could force the words past her chapped lips. She lifted her chin off her chest to face the two men in front of her and asked, "Did everything just taste purple for a second?"

The man with the glasses snorted quietly and said, "That happened faster than expected. The low caloric diet is obviously working."

"It was as you requested," the bald man said.

She ignored the men and focused. Inch by inch, she rebuilt her wall. She dug deep inside of herself and felt safer with every new brick. She latched onto the ice cold agent that was still a part of her, that was locking herself behind that wall, and desperately merged with it. It took her several seconds to remember what they were discussing, but when she did, the rage gave her clarity. "Why should I cooperate?" she snarled. Her voice was rough and barely recognizable. "You broke our fucking deal!"

"You killed three fellow operatives and permanently disabled a fourth. You are lucky you're not already dead."

Her mind swam; the images came unbidden to the forefront of her thoughts.

She had been resting on the floor. It was not exactly sanitary and the rough, worn carpet made the exposed skin of her neck and hands itch. But it was safe.

Sarah strained against her bonds, making it seem like she wanted to leap for the bald man's throat. The two guards that had brought her immediately grabbed her shoulders and forced her back down onto her chair.

Her head swam away, like a log floating on a river. Okay, so sudden movements were not smart. Whatever they had injected her with, it was potent.

She had no real pillow, no blanket, just the make-shift pillow she had made out of Chuck's jacket. She'd rather be wearing it, but as far gone as she was when it came to Chuck, she was not yet that sentimental. So she had compromised with the voice in her head to accept the comforting warmth and smell of the jacket as a pillow.

She had tried to slip into a light doze, but with the grody carpet, heavy weight of the Mossberg 590 on her chest, and the need to stay awake always forefront in her mind, she had not managed anything more than constant tossing and turning.

She had to force herself to concentrate and ignore the pull on her body. It felt as if something was trying to drag her into quicksand, and it took every bit of struggling to keep her head above water. She knew it was only a matter of time before she sank.

She sucked in a deep breath to help clear her mind. "Because you broke our deal!" She glared at the bald man, the little man with glasses, at everybody. She added just the right amount of anger to her next two lines. "What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

They came sooner than she expected. She had thought they'd wait until mid morning at least, but it was just after midnight when she heard the crunch of gravel outside her door. Earlier she had seeded the ground in front of her room with pea gravel taken from the hotel parking lot and then removed the bulbs from the overheard lights.

She took a deep breath and moved to her knees, just peeking over the edge of the bed to get a good look at her curtained off window. The area outside her room was shrouded in darkness, but there was enough ambient light from the cityscape to shadow the men in front of her window. She counted three distinct shadows but knew the retrieval team would be much larger than just three men.

She had certainly hoped they'd send more than three men, at least. Only a three-man team for her was insulting.

Sarah snapped out of the memory and to the present like a rubber band pulled taut and then let go.

"There was some hope, yes, that stupidity might play a part," the bald man drily responded.

She placed the shotgun atop the bed and put her ear plugs in. She picked the shotgun back up and sucked in a deep breath, readying herself for the inevitable attack.

The door exploded inward, sounding like a giant piece of paper tearing through the ear plugs.

She shut her eyes tightly and buried her face into her arm in anticipation of the flashbang. Despite her eyes clenched shut and the barrier of her arm, she still saw a brilliant red hue, like closing your eyes while looking up at the sun. Her ears rang and her bones hummed.

She counted to three, ignoring the two soft poofs of cloth and feathers from what she assumed were tranquilizer darts impacting the pillow dummy she had built in her bed.

Sarah blinked hard, trying to get some moisture back in her eyes, and had to focus to bring her rage back to the surface. Anger was the only thing keeping her from completely succumbing to the drug. "We had a deal. I would bring the Intersect to you. Not the other way around. Not for you to fuck me over. So yeah," she let out a low growl, "I killed your men. Of course I did. I didn't know why you were there, what your purpose was. I did what I thought was necessary to survive."

She opened her eyes, pulled her shoulder in close to her body, and tightly somersaulted to her right. She rose up, left leg along the ground, right leg vertical, brought the shotgun up to her right shoulder, and braced herself properly.

She fired directly into the point man's upper thighs; a shot center mass would have been blunted by the man's body armor. The point man cried out and crumpled to the ground, blood immediately starting to pool beneath him.

Knowing that the man was too wounded to be a threat, she had already started to adjust her aim to the man slightly behind and to the right of the point man. Aiming for the man's legs like she had with the first man, she pumped the shotgun and fired off another round of buckshot. As he collapsed to the ground, she swung the shotgun to the left and indiscriminately began firing into the mass of men still waiting to come through the door.

Grunts of pain and the booming cacophony of her shotgun filled the room. After exhausting her shells, she tossed the shotgun away, somersaulted back behind the cover of the bed, and pulled out her P229. She peeked over the top of the bed and saw two men from the retrieval team leap over the felled bodies of their colleagues and thunder into the motel room. She sighted on the man to her left and put two in his chest. Her third shot went wild, clipping the man in his neck. She had to duck behind her cover before she could determine the extent of her damage.

"Agent Walker," somebody yelled. "Stop! We're here to bring you in!"

She pinballed into the present with a lurch forward. She could still taste the cordite in her mouth. Still hear the gunshots echoing in her mind. Whatever they had injected her with, it was one stiff cocktail.

Her head felt heavy and her neck ached. She blinked her eyes rapidly, and the two men in front of her moved like an old-fashioned picture show. Her stomach rumbled and she craved food, any food, warm food, just food, nothing but food. And Chuck. Chuck covered in food. She clumsily licked her lips and wished she still had saliva to moisten them with.

"Maple syrup!"

"What?"

"Can I have some maple syrup?" Sarah blinked and muttered, "That's stupid. You can't have maple syrup without pancakes."

The little man with the glasses said, "Definitely working."

And then she was back again. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tell what was real from what had already happened. She could swear the walls of the interrogation room looked exactly like the walls of her motel room.

Her only response to the operative's plea was to take a bead on the man hugging the far wall, trying to get in behind her. She aimed for his trigger arm and did her best to put a bullet in his shoulder. Unfortunately, her aim still being what it was, her shot went askew and burrowed harmlessly into the wall by the man's head.

Her miss afforded the man enough time to bring his weapon to bear and she soon felt the prick of something sharp on her neck. She gasped and fought against the encroaching blackness, but couldn't resist the sedative pumping through her veins. She soon fell to the floor, unconscious.

She blinked and no longer wanted to sleep.

"You should get started."

Glasses looked at his companion and Sarah giggled to herself as it looked like instead of glasses, he had coke bottles for eyes. "Will you be staying?" Glasses asked.

"I will be overseeing every aspect of her interrogation."

Glasses hummed to himself and then turned to his machines. He began to turn them on.

Sarah's head lolled to the side and she flushed with a sudden flash of stifling heat. She shifted in her seat awkwardly and squeezed her legs together repeatedly, trying to ease the abrupt tightening in her lower abdomen. Stupid Chuck making her think about him right now. She'd rather go back to hoping for maple syrup. Or Chuck slathered in maple syrup. That was an image she could get used to.

She didn't want to think about Chuck, but now that he had popped into her mind, it seemed she could think of nothing else. Only everything was a swirling mess of then and now and a splattering of color on the walls of her mind.

She awoke gradually. She was warm and comfortable. An arm was draped loosely across her back and a hand curled possessively around her side, just beside her breast. The fingers were light and occasionally caressed her skin. As soon as she was awake enough to process the sensation of their movement, she shivered.

The bald man pulled something out of his pocket. She couldn't see, didn't care.

She was in bed with Chuck. She clenched her eyes shut and prayed that Chuck was still asleep and would never find out about this lapse in judgment. They'd only kissed a few far too brief times. She wasn't even sure of the nature of their relationship (hadn't she just seen him kissing Carina only a few hours ago?). She really shouldn't be in bed with him.

Glasses walked slowly up to her, coke bottles slipping down his nose. She giggled and slumped into her chair. Her mind was running a sprint, processing everything and nothing. What was Chuck's real plan? Was Bryce really going to be able to withstand everything that was happening to him? Why was Carina such a bitch? She needed new clothes. She hoped the CIA had kept her knife collection when they raided her hotel room. Casey was a mean bastard.

And then back to Chuck again, back to feeling him pressed against her.

She listened for even breathing but knew that didn't mean anything. She had feigned sleep before to lull a mark into a false sense of security. She didn't think that was something Chuck would do, but there was still so much about him that she didn't know.

Glasses started to paste a cool gel onto her forehead. She felt like she was hit with an arctic breeze and she shivered. Everything was just so damn sensitive now. She could feel the ache in her stomach, the hardening of her nipples under her thin T-shirt (her hair suddenly felt alive, like a swirling Medusa), and taste the disgusting air of the room. Everything was just…_more_.

She silently counted to three and then opened her eyes again. She breathed a sigh of relief that Chuck's eyes were closed.

She grunted in pain as Glasses used a sharp wooden stick to press the electrodes hard against her forehead. "That hurts," she slurred.

She had a reprieve. She wasn't going to waste it. Carefully she began to wriggle her way out of Chuck's very firm embrace. He really didn't want to let her go. A part of her warmed a bit at the thought, but she absolutely could not let him catch her—

"Sorry," Glasses whispered.

Sarah went still, not even breathing. The hand on her side moved and she couldn't help shivering at the motion. She felt like she had been wrapped inside an electric blanket and every brush of Chuck's fingers against her skin was like touching a live wire. She had wanted to be in this position with Chuck for so long that now that she was in some approximation to it, she wasn't sure what to do.

Glasses grabbed a hold of the dangling wires and trailed them back to his bank of machines. She went cross-eyed trying to look at all the wires attached to her face. She was being attacked by an octopus! She struggled against the zip ties, trying to break free so that she could stop the suction cups from marking up her face.

Chuck licked his lips slowly, his tongue working saliva onto his more than likely dry lips. She found the gesture oddly enticing. There was something really wrong with her.

Glasses sat down in front of his equipment and she heard him murmur unintelligibly to himself as he tapped on his machines. She stopped struggling against the octopus and accepted that she'd look like she was attacked by a horny teenager the next time she saw Chuck.

She had to shift in her seat again at the thought of Chuck. Damn him. Why couldn't she concentrate?

"Oh." His hand started to move and again she shivered. His eyes widened as his hand moved across her back. "Sarah…are you," he swallowed slowly, "naked?"

Oh yeah. That's why.

"No." She pushed up slowly until her face was only inches from his. What the hell was she doing? She locked eyes with him and said, "But I could be if you wanted."

Chuck made an adorable squeaking sound and his hands flew away from her to rest by his side. He swallowed again and avoided her eyes. "Um…that's okay. Really."

"It's no trouble, Chuck, honest." She slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders. "See?" She started to reach behind her to undo the clasp, a small smirk upturning her lips.

With a garbled exclamation, Chuck leaned toward her, his arms wrapping around her and crushing her against his chest. They both moaned at the contact, though she suspected for entirely different reasons. Her concern that Chuck might have just aggravated his injury warred with the quicksilver rush of desire that pooled in her belly and hardened her nipples as her body pressed against his. The feeling was positively delicious. She shut her eyes to savor it.

This was going to happen. Finally.

After listening to Chuck's labored breathing level out, she opened her eyes. His own were locked steadily on her face. "Christ, Sarah, are you trying to kill me?" Chuck asked, his eyes slightly pained but still full of longing. "I doubt I'd be able to keep up with you at the best of times, but I can barely move now."

Glasses was talking again.

"Leave me alone," she mumbled.

"It's okay, Chuck. I'll be careful, I promise." She reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She then pulled the bra away from her body and tossed it over her shoulder.

"I said, I am going to ask you a series of control questions. Please only answer 'Yes' or 'No'," Coke Bottle Glasses said.

Sarah's head listed to the side and she blinked rapidly in an attempt to focus. She forced Chuck away; couldn't think about that afternoon now and how she wished it had ended. She needed to keep her wits about her. This was the whole point of the ordeal. She needed to get through this, she needed to do her part, she needed to stop thinking about Chuck, she needed to clear her head, she needed to be Emma Frost, she needed—

"Is your name Sarah Walker?" the man asked.

She shook her head slowly.

Her interrogator sighed and said, "I need a verbalized response, please."

"No," she slurred.

The man sighed again and adjusted the coke bottles on his face. "Let me rephrase: is your current cover identity that of Sarah Walker?"

Sarah nodded her head enthusiastically, eyes wide. "Yes," she said for good measure.

He tapped a few keys on the keyboard in front of him, humming to himself quietly. "Is your birthday July 30th, 1980?"

Again, Sarah shook her head slowly and again, her interrogator asked her to speak her answers. "No."

Her interrogator clucked his tongue and said, "Is your current _cover_ identity's birthday July 30th, 1980?"

"Yes."

"Do you have blonde hair?"

"Yes."

Glasses' voice cut out.

She tilted her head to one side like she was trying to drain water from her ear. "I'm sorry. Did you ask what snozberries taste like?" What the hell was a snozberry?

"Everybody knows that snozberries taste like snozberries."

"Are you sure they don't taste like strawberries?" She could suddenly taste strawberries on her tongue.

"Agent Walker," Glasses said in an unnecessarily angry tone, "please concentrate!"

She glared at him. He had asked! She didn't know why he was getting so angry because she answered his question. She felt like pouting. She hadn't pouted since she was eight-years-old.

"Are you fifty-years-old?" Glasses sounded like somebody who was under a great strain.

"No."

"Can you fly?"

"Yes."

Glasses paused in his typing and looked up at her sharply. She stared back at him with wide, clouded eyes. "You can fly," he stated. It didn't seem like a question.

"I am flying right now, aren't I?" Sarah asked. She had trouble pronouncing the words and so they sounded like a jumbled mess.

"You are currently firmly attached to the ground."

"Oh," she said in a very disappointed tone. Suddenly she brightened, sitting up straight and looking at her interrogator eagerly. "Also, I can pilot."

"We know. It's in your file."

The bald man, heretofore quiet during her interrogation, said, "Get on with it."

His voice rang with the clear note of command and the interrogator fidgeted nervously in his chair. "Yes, yes, of course, sir."

The interrogator refocused his attention on her and cleared his throat. He adjusted the glasses on his face and peered intently at his equipment. Then, he started to speak, "I am now going to ask you a series of pertinent questions. Please be as honest as possible. I will know when you are telling a lie."

Sarah just clamped her mouth shut and closed her eyes. She evened her breathing and fought the impulse to start telling the bespectacled man everything about her. It was like she was sitting down with an old friend (if she had any friends) for a cup of coffee and telling her everything about her life.

"On the night that you disappeared, what were you doing?"

Softball. "I was overseeing Operation Black Mamba, which by the way was a stupid name probably thought up by some idiot over in Planning. Really, what kind of a name is that for an operation to infiltrate and sabotage a major CIA installation? Just stupid, and ridiculous, and—"

"Agent Walker!" Glasses held up a hand and she abruptly cut off her talking. "Please just stick to relevant information."

"But that is relevant," she groused.

The bald man nodded and one of the men standing beside her grabbed her shoulder in a vise grip. The tips of his fingers dug into her flesh and she had to grit her teeth to prevent a whimper from escaping. At least the pain cleared her mind.

She breathed slowly in and out and started to talk. "What I meant to say, is that I was overseeing Operation Black Mamba and evaluating Tommy Delgado's operational effectiveness in the field. Suffice it to say, he was found wanting." She couldn't help smiling in satisfaction at that thought.

"And why did you disappear?"

She shrugged her shoulder, dislodging the man's hand off her body. She upturned her head and glared at the hulking man looming over her. He didn't even flinch. She turned back to face Glasses with a frown on her face. "Because I was captured by the CIA, but you should already know that, as I said that when I made contact."

"We are simply being thorough."

The bald man grunted in a remarkable imitation of Casey and she almost giggled. She wished Casey was here. At least he knew how to conduct a proper interrogation. "We're making sure you didn't lie about your disappearance."

He really did take his honesty seriously. She liked that Chuck was honest. Well, most of the time; though it really did get annoying when she caught him in a lie.

"What happened during your imprisonment?" Glasses asked. "Were you interrogated? If so, how much of Fulcrum's operation did you divulge?"

They were all seated around the big conference table. Chuck stood near the head, a small device in his hand. Behind him, one of the giant monitors was alive and displaying pictures. One of the pictures was the bald man Carina had shown her earlier.

Chuck was speaking: "As you know, General Beckman has approved my mission plan for ingratiating Sarah back into Fulcrum." Chuck paused and winced as he took in a breath. "However, after looking it over, Sarah pointed out several flaws in the overall mission parameters." Chuck smiled crookedly. "Apparently, I'm not as devious as I thought."

In her opinion, that was a damn good thing.

Chuck's smile faded and he took on a more serious look. "As such, I see no point in confusing the issue, so I've decided to give Sarah basic operational authority over the first stage of the mission. She knows Fulcrum; she knows their protocols and their way of thinking. It would be stupid not to take advantage of that."

She answered Glasses' questions about her time in CIA captivity mechanically. She did her best to give short, to the point answers. The less she said, the less likely her tongue would let slip important information.

Sarah knew that the others wouldn't like Chuck's decision, but she didn't particularly care. Chuck trusted her, and that was enough. As long as she had his approval, the others would fall in line.

Chuck continued speaking, "Now Sarah is going to debrief you on her plan, what it entails, and how we're going to make it happen." Chuck stopped and looked at everyone seated around him. "She's one of us now, so come on, guys, give her a chance."

She stood up then and took Chuck's place at the head of the table. There was concern in her eyes as he hobbled toward a chair, but she forced herself to stand in place and not help him. She had a job to do and this was her chance to prove her worth.

She hadn't realized that she had stopped answering questions until one of her guards again had her shoulder in a painful grip. She blinked and sucked in a shaky breath as pain raced down her arms and made her fingers tingle. "What?" she snapped.

"Concentrate, Agent Walker," Glasses said.

"All you should care about is if I'm answering your questions."

"You weren't."

The bald man nodded and one of the guards reached down and took firm hold of one of her fingers. "Stop answering questions again and we will start breaking fingers."

Sarah seethed and barely stopped herself from saying something that would earn her some broken bones. The bald man was the kind of man who used pain as a learning tool and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to follow through on his threat.

"I'm sorry. What was the question again?"

"We want to know if you learned any names."

She couldn't help the way her mind immediately drifted back to the conference room. "The only way to make Fulcrum think that I'm genuine is to make them earn it. I can't just walk right back to them, tell them I have the Intersect, and expect them to buy it. They've got to believe that they had to work for it or else they'll always be suspicious." She took a deep breath. This was the part that Chuck had fought her on, but she knew that it was necessary.

"When I contact Fulcrum, they'll want to set up a meet. They won't stick to it. That's too predictable, too dangerous. They'll find out where I'm at and send a retrieval team to bring me in. So why make it hard for them? When I contact them, I'll use an unsecured phone."

Casey had grunted and said, "You're going to be sloppy? Won't that make them suspicious too?"

"At first, maybe, but I've been off the grid for months now. Once they find out I've been in CIA custody this whole time, they'll more than likely assume that that's the reason why I'm screwing up."

"And if they don't?" Carina asked.

"Then I'll just have to convince them."

"There are a lot of 'What ifs' in this plan," Bryce commented. He was leaning forward, elbows on the table, staring up at her. "And it seems unnecessarily dangerous."

Chuck snorted from beside Bryce and she frowned at the look of justification on his face. She knew exactly what he was probably thinking: _Told you so_.

"No. Look, the best time to convince the Fulcrum higher-ups that I'm legit is when the retrieval team comes after me."

"And what are you going to do then?" Carina had a look of scorn on her face. "Let me guess, strip naked and take 'em all for a ride, right? I mean, that's what you do best, isn't it?"

Sarah almost snapped the light pen she held in her hand in half. She had to tell herself that Carina was just reacting to what she had walked in on earlier and that she wasn't purposefully setting out to piss her off. Oh how she wanted to smack the redhead right in the mouth though.

"Carina," Chuck said in a calm tone, "stop that."

The redhead closed her mouth on what was probably a protest, and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She slumped down in her chair, eyes glued to the table, and looked remarkably like a pouting child.

Sarah smiled quickly at Chuck to show her gratitude for defusing the situation. He nodded and scratched the back of his head. Then he leaned over and whispered something into Carina's ear. Whatever he said, Carina stopped pouting and relaxed. She frowned. She would probably never get used to the closeness of the two partners.

"Carina has a point, though," Bryce said. "How exactly are you going to convince them?"

She smiled predatorily and said, "By killing them."

"Her pinky," the bald man said and Sarah snapped back to the present.

"Wait!" she said. "I did! I learned one!" The bald man held up a hand. "Charles Carmichael!"

She really hoped this worked.

"Repeat that," the bald man said. His voice was tight and demanding. It was the first hint of real emotion she'd seen from him so far.

"I learned that one of the people on the team that captured me was named Charles Carmichael." She contorted her face into a sneer. "He was an amateur. He actually told me his name because he thought he could befriend me." Which, in its own way, was the absolute truth.

She had to hold herself steady for just a few more seconds. "Personally, I think he just wanted to fuck me."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

"Carmichael knows you? He talked to you?"

"Yes."

She felt the guard's hand let go of her pinky. She relaxed slightly. It wasn't that she was afraid of having her fingers broken—it had happened more times than she liked to count—but nobody liked having it happen for no reason.

"What's the big deal?" she asked.

The bald man ignored her, reached into his pocket for a cell phone, gave a curt nod to Glasses, and then left the interrogation room.

For his part, Glasses walked up to her with a hypodermic needle. She stared at it. He must have noticed because he smiled in what he probably thought was a reassuring fashion, but in her current state, just made his mouth look wide and distorted. "Relax," he said. "This will counteract the drugs and help flush out your system."

He then poked her in the neck. Instantly she felt a cool rushing along her skin. Her eyes widened and she blinked rapidly.

Glasses said to her guards, "Give her food and plenty of water."

The guard on her right grunted and both men grabbed her under the arms and lifted. She came clear off the chair and they carried her away from the room.

# # # # #

When she next saw the bald man, she was freshly showered and wearing clean clothes. Her stomach was full and while her body still ached constantly, she no longer felt the insistent thirst she had felt before her interrogation.

As far as she had been able to determine from what little she'd seen of the facility, she was in some kind of office building. Probably in one of the countless office parks that dotted the Los Angeles landscape. It was richly furnished, so she knew that Fulcrum probably used the building as a location for some kind of business front. Occasionally, she'd pass a secure room or see security personnel patrolling the hallways.

It was familiar. It was like watching her favorite movie (if she actually had one) and she knew exactly what was coming next. It was really no different from any other Fulcrum base she'd ever spent time in.

Her guards had escorted her down quiet, little traveled hallways. They'd taken the stairs to avoid being seen (which had made her already protesting thighs ache), and led her to where she was currently now.

She was in some kind of conference or meeting room. It was all oak paneled walls and plush carpet and reprints of modern art on the walls. It was like every generic board room she'd ever seen (it seemed an exact replica of the room where she'd taunted Tommy before that fateful mission) and was once again unimpressed with Fulcrum's unoriginality.

There was a low table that dominated the center of the room with ten plush leather chairs arranged around it. She was sitting in one of those chairs, and the cool leather felt soothing against her still too hot skin. She had the urge to swing her feet up onto the table and take a nap, but figured that her overseers would not find the gesture as amusing as her.

Her mind was mostly clear now but she could still occasionally feel the lingering effects of the drug. Sometimes she had the strangest compulsion to blurt out random information. And she still couldn't stop thinking about Chuck, though she wasn't sure if that was due to the drugs or the simple fact that she had thought about him constantly since the first day she met him. Either way, she was slowly becoming more and more herself.

The bald man entered the room alone. She took that as a gesture of trust. She must have convinced him and his bosses that she was on the level or else they would have never left her alone with the man.

He walked to the head of the table and took a seat. He tapped his fingers atop the table and asked conversationally, "I hope you are doing better?"

She nodded and leaned back in her chair. "What am I doing here?"

"We've done our best to verify your story. Most of it seems to check out. The base you described matches the description of the facility we destroyed a week ago."

"Do you really think I'd come back to this chicken-shit outfit if I thought I had a choice? Of course my story is on the level."

"Stranger things have happened," the bald man said. He smiled and it was disturbing how utterly _normal_ it was.

"Well, I'd be crazy to come back to Fulcrum after telling you I was in CIA custody if I wasn't telling the truth."

The bald man chuckled briefly. "Precisely. That makes it the perfect ploy for a double agent attempting to insinuate herself back with her old employers."

Sarah didn't even blink, she just shrugged her shoulders. She projected indifference, because the only way she'd come across as believable to herself and anyone she was talking with, was if she truly _was_ indifferent.

"You're right, it would." She leaned forward and let the littlest amount of emotion color her voice. "You must have read my file. You must know my history with the Agency. I _hate_ them. They murdered my father. They used me and then burned me when I needed them most. I'd kill every last one of them if I could." By the time she finished her speech, she was breathing hard and her face was red. She had believed that too.

The bald man stared at her and she forced herself to calm down. The room became silent, with only her still labored breathing causing noise. Finally, the man spoke, "Despite my personal reservations, my superiors are willing to give you a chance."

"So you don't believe me?"

"What I believe no longer matters at this juncture."

She relaxed back into her seat and reigned in her careening emotions. Talk of her father and the CIA's culpability in his death had always been one of the easiest ways to rile her up. She forced herself to smile at him easily and said lightly, "Does this mean we can't be friends?"

The bald man adopted a curious expression. "I've heard what you do for your friends, and while the offer is tempting, I think I'll refrain for the moment."

"Your loss."

"Yes, well, we'll see."

The bald man pressed a few buttons on a keyboard imbedded in the table. One of the video monitors sprang to life behind him. On the screen was a black and white photo of Chuck taken from some distance. "Recognize him?"

"That's Carmichael," she said. It wasn't a very good picture, grainy and dark, but she'd recognize Chuck anywhere.

He nodded and pressed another button. The photo changed to a tighter photo on Chuck's face. "We've had this man under surveillance for some time. We know he works for the CIA in some capacity but we've never been able to positively determine how." He pressed the button again and a photo of Chuck with Carina and Casey appeared. "We've long suspected that he has some tie to the Intersect project."

He placed both hands on the table and looked at her levelly. "Unfortunately, we've never been in a position before to make a move on him and find out what he knows."

"Forgive me for stating the obvious," Sarah said and she made her tone more than a little snide, "but who gives a fuck? Why do we care about some analyst who _may_ have a connection to the Intersect project when we have an actual Intersect downstairs?"

The bald man smirked. "Exactly, Agent Walker. _An_ Intersect, as in singular."

"I'm not sure I follow you. I thought taking possession of the Intersect was Fulcrum's number one priority?"

"Why buy one at a time when you can buy in bulk?"

She knew exactly what the man was saying, as Chuck had postulated the same thing, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to make them underestimate her. "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"Mr. Carmichael is rumored to be deeply knowledgeable of the Intersect, perhaps even its current project head. If we could somehow turn him or find out what he knows, why would we settle for one Intersect when we could have ten? A hundred?"

"And you think Carmichael can do this for you?"

The bald man nodded. "We hope, at least."

"And I assume that's why you're telling me this."

"Correct. You said that you suspected Carmichael wanted to engage you in a sexual relationship." The bald man stopped and looked somewhat uncomfortable. Or constipated. Either one was not a good look for him. "I know that it has been some time since this was asked of you, but Fulcrum is in need of your special services."

She couldn't help the feeling of dejection that overcame her. Not even delivering them the Intersect was enough to keep them from treating her like a whore. Nothing had changed. Fulcrum really was no different from the CIA.

"Consider it an act of good faith, on your part. A show of loyalty."

Sarah scoffed and glared at the bald man. "I brought you Bryce Larkin on a plate and you're still questioning my loyalty?"

"You know as well as I do that one doesn't survive long in this business if one isn't careful."

She rolled her eyes and said flippantly, "So you want me to find Carmichael, fuck him stupid, and discover what he knows. That about sum it up?"

The bald man frowned at her words, either because of how crude they were or the tone in which she said them. She didn't particularly care. All she cared about were the minutes ticking by until she could get away from Fulcrum and back where she belonged. This place made her skin crawl. It was all so artificial. There was nothing real about them. They claimed to be above the CIA, better, with a clear vision on how to turn the country into a phoenix, but they played in the same mud as everybody else. She had no idea how she had ever managed to stand it before she met Chuck.

"We want you to use your prior relationship with Carmichael to establish contact with him, yes. Get close to him and find out what he knows. Determine if he does have a connection to the Intersect project, and if so, what kind."

"And if he doesn't have any connection?"

The bald man smiled coldly, his killer's eyes emotionless. "Then he's really of no use to us. Kill him. "

* * *

Gasp! Oh no! What is Sarah going to do? Well, obviously she's going to rejoin her Fulcrum masters and gut Chuck like a fish. Duh. Whoops, spoilers!

Sorry, folks, as much as I totally bogarted the whole quote thing at the beginning of the chapter from **Frea**, I haven't quite fallen into total idolization mode just yet. So no sneak preview of the next chapter. That being said...

**Next chapter**: _An Offer She Can't Refuse_ - We catch up with Bryce and find out how he's enjoying his vacation at Club Fulcrum, Sarah is given a tempting offer, and Chuck, well, Chuck has a drink.


	24. Memento

**Author's Note**: Ha! I did it. I wasn't sure that I would, but I did. What you see here is a major achievement in this story. Not only does this chapter represent the One Year Anniversary of _Double Agent_ (can you believe I've been writing this story for a year?), but it also contains a huge story development. You'll understand why once you read it. This is something this story has been building to since the beginning. For those of you who wanted more Charah in this story, well, here you have it. And to make things even better, this chapter is only the beginning.

You'll also notice the rather different structure I chose to tell this story. Partly inspired by the brilliant movie _Memento_ (like duh), partly inspired by my own brain (structuring this chapter this way was the only way I could actually get up the inspiration to write it), and partly inspired by the fantastic **Frea O'Scanlin**, I give you this chapter told in reverse. It seems that Part Three of this story is going to be full of weird and experimental story structure. I think it's great fun.

I have a lot of people to thank this chapter. First, and foremost, I must thank you, my readers, for sticking with me for so long. I know that I don't update as often as you might like, but I haven't given up on this story and I hope you don't give up also. You've made it possible for this story to make it to one year, and I thank you so very much. Second, I must thank all of you who voted for me in the _Second Annual Awesome Awards_. The fact that so many of my fics made it to the final round of voting is a great accomplishment, and though I didn't win any of the writing awards (curse you **Frea**!), I did win the _Skip Johnson Award for Best Beta_ work, and honestly, that was the one award I wanted to win most as my beta work is very important to me. Thank you to everyone who made that win possible. And third, but certainly not any less important, is the ridiculously awesome **Frea O'Scanlin** who encouraged me, cajoled me, and read over this chapter, assuring me that it was not crap. Thank you, Frea, for all your help.

* * *

Shhhhhh. Of course. From a group of Libyan nationalists. They wanted me to build them a bomb, so I took their plutonium and in turn, gave them a shiny bomb-casing full of used pinball machine parts! – _Back to the Future_, Dr. Emmett Brown

* * *

There were a lot of things that Sarah had meant to do in her life. She had meant to be a good person. She had meant to be a loyal and faithful CIA agent. She had meant to follow the mission plan that the team had come up with before she rejoined Fulcrum. Of course, like everything else she had _meant_ to do in her life, things never unfolded like she wanted them to.

So it came as no surprise to her that her intention to simply talk to Chuck, flirt with him, entice him up to her hotel room, and then stop things from escalating too far, was not exactly going according to plan.

Sarah slammed Chuck against the hotel room door and molded her body to his. His eyes were wide and he let out a little surprised gasp as his back hit the door. She smiled and kissed him hard. She was in too much of a hurry, her kisses too passionate and hungry, to worry about finesse or style like she might if Chuck were anything like the men she usually kissed. But Chuck wasn't a mark—well, he was and he wasn't—and she couldn't think of him that way, didn't want to think of him that way, and most importantly of all, didn't _need_ to think of him that way.

She had never felt so hot. Her skin felt like it was on fire, her blood rushed through her veins like boiling water powering through a hose, and the only way to dissipate the heat, to stop it from consuming her, was to transfer it to Chuck.

By way of her mouth.

In terms of heat sinks, it was definitely the most enjoyable version she'd ever heard of.

Not that any of this was her fault. She'd honestly started out the night fully intending to keep to the plan. Fulcrum only needed to think she was having sex with Chuck. There was no real, logical reason for her to actually see her seduction through to the end. No reason other than she wanted to.

And that was the problem right there: she wanted to. No, by the time they entered the elevator and started on the way to her floor, it was no longer a matter of desire. She _needed_ to be with Chuck. She needed to feel his naked skin pressing and sliding against hers. She needed to have that frightening and wholly unfamiliar emotional connection with him. But more than anything, she was intensely turned on, and she just really needed to orgasm.

Sarah somehow made the room key materialize in her hand. She started to blindly thrust with it in the general direction of the door lock. She was too busy kissing Chuck to worry about aiming properly. After several failed attempts, Chuck laughed against her mouth and gently stilled her hand. Her skin tingled where he touched and she was compelled to lean into him further. She arched and her breasts rubbed against him, causing her to hitch her breath and his eyes to darken with desire.

"You're never going to get it in that way." His words were slow and low, husky and rough, almost like his words had taken on a texture of their own, a texture that warmed and surrounded her, making it impossible to think straight. His left hand slid tantalizingly up her arm to cup her face. She leaned into his palm and licked her swollen lips. He kissed her then, achingly sweet and gentle, and the contrast to their earlier kisses left her disoriented and light headed.

Chuck pressed his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily. Chuck had his eyes closed, and the hand on her cheek had moved to play with a lock of dark hair near her ear.

Nothing was going at all to plan. The "date" should have come across as a passionate, purely physical encounter well on its way toward meaningless sex. Instead, it had transformed into something altogether more intimate. It had turned into something real and subtle and true. It was entirely the wrong path to take. A woman meeting a man in a hotel bar for the first time would not be looking at the man she had just met the same way she was currently looking at Chuck. Likewise, a Fulcrum agent playing a mark would have already manhandled her target inside, her clothes disappearing. To make matters worse, she hadn't even mentioned the medal yet.

And she didn't care at all. Chuck unhurriedly kissed her again, his tongue easing into her mouth, causing her entire body to go slack against his. She moaned quietly.

It was a surprise when he carefully pried the key out of her hand and without looking, still kissing her, began to grope for the card slot himself. His movements were methodical, a distinct contrast to her harried attempts.

She yanked her mouth away from his, and both looked at each other with wide eyes. She was more than a little miffed that he could concentrate well enough to be so composed while she was kissing him. Didn't she affect him like he affected her? Was she losing her touch? She tried to ignore little sprout of doubt that insisted she was being played.

Still breathing hard, she gave him a faint smirk. She licked her swollen lips again and said, "Oh, so you're going to show me how to properly put it in, huh?" The husky timbre was unintentional, but she was pleased at the reaction it inspired in Chuck anyway.

Chuck's whole face flushed and he avoided her eyes in obvious embarrassment. It was adorable; which, of course, only made her want him more. It took considerable will power on her part not to start kissing him again.

Still, that didn't mean she couldn't let him know just how impatient she was. "Hurry up," she growled. If Chuck didn't speed up and get the damn door open, she'd take him right there in the hallway.

Finally, she heard the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, and she assumed a decidedly predatory look on her face. It was familiar, how easily she slipped into the role of calculating seductress, but her impatience had finally won out over her willingness to take things slow. She was all for intimacy, it just needed to happen when they were both sweaty and naked.

Chuck's eyes filled with nervous uncertainty and she almost giggled at the sight. He may have been with Carina, but she could guarantee he'd never been with a woman like her before. By the time she was done with him, he'd be lucky if he could still walk, and be grateful to her for crippling him.

She shoved him into the room and shut the door with her foot. Chuck bounced off the wall near the door and grimaced slightly. She just shook her head in bemusement at his lack of coordination.

Immediately, she popped open her small purse and dug past the medal that Bryce had handed her earlier—she promised herself that she'd bring it up as soon as she was less occupied—to grasp a small signal jammer. She made sure he saw her pull it out and turn it on; he nodded to indicate that he had.

This was always going to be the riskiest part of the operation. She had advised her Fulcrum handlers of her intentions to disable audio surveillance—she'd be their whore, she had declared, but what happened in her bedroom was her business, not theirs—but she'd never actually received approval from them. She'd know how they planned to react within the next minute or so. Until then, she intended to focus all her attention on what actually mattered.

Chuck let out a weak laugh as he finally steadied, his movements ungainly and somewhat awkward. She knew that he was still stiff from being shot and that no matter what happened between them in the next few hours, she'd have to be careful. He straightened his shirt and tie and a grin slowly blossomed across his face. "That was certainly different." He licked his lips and she nearly groaned at the sight. "You really sold it. You even had me convinced there for a second, but Casey swept the room earlier, so we should be clear."

If Fulcrum was going to make a move, they would have done it by now. They really did have the night to themselves. If they wanted, they could play cards all night until it was time for the next phase of the plan.

She stopped her slow advance and frowned. Sold it? He thought she was acting? There was no acting involved. There was only her. Did he really think she could fake that kind of kiss?

"Who's playing?" Though she tried not to let him see the words had hurt, she was sure some pain had leaked through.

"Um…Sarah?" Chuck's confused look infuriated her. Why did he have to make it so damn difficult just to have sex with him? She was starting to think he wasn't actually interested in her.

She stalked toward him and he gulped. He began backing up, hands in front of him in an attempt to ward her off. "Sarah, what are you doing? We don't really have time for this, okay?"

She growled in frustration, "Time? It's always about time with you, isn't it?" She took a step forward, he took a step back. "You can't tell me what's going on because there's no time. You can't tell me how you feel because there's no time." His legs hit the foot of the bed; she continued her advance. "You let Carina interrupt us because there's no time!" She paused and took in a breath. "Well, you know what, Chuck? There's no one to interrupt us now, so there's plenty of fucking time!"

Chuck sat down on the bed with a sigh. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, sending it thoroughly into disarray. "Sarah, you know that I like you, I do, and I've told you before that I want to see where things go, but this?" He motioned his hand to encompass them, the bed, the room. "This is not how it should happen. We should actually, you know, go on a real date first. Get to know each other as people. _Talk_." He finally met her eyes. "Do you really want our first time to be in a hotel room and because of some mission?"

Sarah tamped down her anger and frustration and tried to stay focused. She wouldn't get through to Chuck if she yelled at him. So she tried a different angle. "Chuck," she said, low and almost a purr, "I really don't give a shit about any of that nonsense." She slowly, carefully, hiked the hem of her dress up almost to her waist, and settled her weight on Chuck's lap, straddling him. He gulped visibly and his eyes dilated with lust. She smiled at the sight. When Chuck's hands landed on her hips, she smiled even wider.

She placed both of her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him sweet and gentle, like he had kissed her outside the room. She needed to slow things down, to seduce him bit by bit. If she came on too fast, he might resist out of instinct, but by easing the pace, by the time he realized what was happening, she'd have him just where she wanted him.

She moved one hand to cup his face, while the other slid around to play with the hair at the back of his neck. He gradually relaxed as her hands moved. She added a little more pressure and passion to her kiss and was rewarded with his mouth opening to hers. She knew that was the signal she'd been waiting for.

She slid her tongue into his mouth and his moan sent vibrations waving throughout her whole body. He was an incredible kisser. She had discovered that way back when, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when she had surprised them both and practically mauled him in the corridor during her failed escape attempt. But as good as that kiss had been, it wasn't anything like this.

This was like a fire, lovingly tended. It started out small, just a few pieces of kindling, and then it grew, log by log, kiss by kiss, until it was a roaring, uncontrollable blaze that consumed everything it touched. She felt herself slowly burning, again felt that searing inside of her, and she needed to let it free, to burn itself out to embers.

She tore her mouth away from Chuck's and opened her eyes to see an unfocused, glazed look in his nearly black eyes. She acknowledged her victory with a smirk. No longer resisting, Sarah eased him backwards until he lied flat on the bed. He looked up at her under mussed hair and hooded eyes, and she had to bite her lip to force herself to concentrate for a few more seconds.

"The only thing I care about, Chuck, is being with you. I don't care how it happens, just that it happens." And then she reached up behind her, undid the tiny knot holding her dress in place, and let it flutter into a pool around her waist.

She couldn't help but blush at the awe and desire that mixed in Chuck's eyes as he stared at her naked chest. His eyes flickered from her breasts to her face, but he didn't say anything and neither did she; she was content to let him look at her. She waited. She was willing to give him the chance to make the decision on his own, not that she wasn't perfectly fine with making it for him if he took too long.

"Okay," he said, and before the words had even died in the room, she was kissing him again.

# # # # #

He was sitting at the bar, just like he was supposed to. He was dressed nice, again, just like he was supposed to: dark slacks, dark blue shirt that conformed to his body in ways that made her heart beat faster, and a slim, black tie. It was nice to see that when he had to, Chuck could follow orders. That would be handy knowledge in the future.

She debated with herself on how to proceed. Was she the ditzy actress? The aloof temptress? The business traveler in search of a tension-releasing one-night stand? Which would be the most convincing to her Fulcrum overseers? More importantly, which would Chuck respond to best? So many questions and she was running out of time to find the answers.

God help her, but she was nervous. She was never nervous, had never been nervous, certainly not when it came to seduction or sex, and yet, as she walked slowly across the hotel lounge toward the bar, she felt like she could barely hold her nerves at bay. She was like some lovesick schoolgirl, going on her first date with her crush. Even though she knew the whole night was nothing more than an elaborate ruse, she couldn't help but hope that Chuck approved of her, that he liked her and found her appealing, that he somehow missed all the massive flaws she knew were apparent to anyone and everyone who cared to spend even one second studying her.

Unable to decide on the best approach, she ultimately decided to play it by ear. She'd let Chuck dictate who she was going to be. She certainly couldn't be herself; that would be disastrous. Considering how nervous she was, it would also be a dead giveaway to those watching her that something about her was not on the level.

So she sat at the bar, six stools down, and waited. She'd let him make the first move. Even though the bar was crowded, he knew she was supposed to be there.

She realized five minutes later, after downing half of her gin and tonic, that that had been her first mistake. Chuck wasn't the type to try and pick up a girl in a bar. Not even Charles Carmichael, aloof and smooth though he could be, was the kind of man who'd buy a girl a drink and then talk his way into her pants. She would have to approach him.

She sighed into her glass, tipped it back, and swallowed another quarter of her drink. She shook her head a bit, and locked away the last of her nervousness. Now was not the time. She could freak out later when they were safely in her hotel room and away from spying eyes.

She checked her purse one last time, under the guise of searching for her lipstick, to make sure that everything she needed was there: bug jammer, Beretta 950, condoms. And Bryce's medal that she planned to give to Chuck as soon as they were in private. She finished reapplying her lipstick and stood up.

She approached him slowly, casually. She didn't want to make it obvious that he was her target. The Fulcrum operatives watching her tonight knew what she was doing, but that didn't mean she had to be sloppy about it. And the last thing she needed was Chuck's CIA babysitters catching onto the fact that she wasn't a civilian.

Unfortunately for her, she'd already sat down at the bar. It was going to look a little suspicious that she moved and headed straight for Chuck. So she knew she was going to have to come on strong to make it look like a simple proposition and nothing nefarious. Fortunately, it was a busy night, so the bar was full of people. It was entirely possible that they would think she was moving closer to the middle to draw the bartender's attention. And since Chuck, engaged in conversation for the last five minutes with a leggy brunette that made a part of Sarah's mind seethe with jealousy, had yet to notice her, he hadn't drawn any unnecessary attention to her yet either.

Of course, there was a part of her brain that resented, perhaps irrationally, the fact that he hadn't noticed her yet. Why did she have to put up with so much shit just to get his attention? It was ridiculously unfair.

To make matters worse, she spotted another pretty brunette headed for the seat that had just opened up next to Chuck. Sarah locked eyes with the woman and watched her flinch, veering all the way to the other side of the bar. Sarah smirked and settled on the empty stool. It was nice to know that when she needed to, she could still intimidate and inspire fear.

She was about to turn and strike up a conversation with Chuck when he beat her to the punch. His right arm swung up clumsily and knocked her glass onto its side. With more than a little regret, she watched the last of her gin and tonic trickle out of the glass and onto the bar. Damn it, she could have used that; the drink had helped calm her nerves.

"Oh I'm sorry," Chuck said, his eyes comically wide when he saw the drink's diffusion in font of her. "I didn't get any on you, did I?"

She scanned his face briefly for any sign of recognition, but all she saw was embarrassment for knocking over her drink. He tried in vain to mop up the spill, and she almost laughed at how needless the whole thing was. Stuff spilled all the time in bars.

Did he really not recognize her? Or was he that good at hiding his true feelings that she couldn't read him? Neither option, as beneficial as it might have been to their current situation, comforted her.

She forced herself to laugh. "It's okay, really. Accidents happen. No apologies necessary."

Chuck stopped mopping up the spill and looked at her in clear bemusement. "I'm still sorry." He flashed a bright smile and she felt her pulse quicken. "At least let me buy you a replacement."

Her own smile came unbidden; she couldn't help it. It was impossible to resist him when he turned on the charm. "Now that I can do."

Chuck spun around on his seat to face her head on. "What are you drinking?"

She swallowed, still tasting the drink on her tongue. "Gin and tonic."

Chuck motioned the bartender over and placed an order for her drink. He turned back to face her, that same heart-stopping smile on his face. "I'm Chuck."

"Rebecca," she said with a strained smile and offered him her hand. He shook it promptly and then didn't let go. That was when she knew. She could just tell. He recognized her. "It's nice to meet you, Chuck."

The brunette that Chuck had been talking to earlier suddenly huffed and exploded off her stool. The woman walked away in obvious annoyance, shooting the both of them an angry look and muttering.

As soon as the other woman was far enough way, Chuck's whole demeanor changed. Gone was the amicable, friendly exterior. In its place was an aloofness, distance in his eyes and stiffness in his posture. "What are you doing here, Walker?" he hissed, his voice pitched low.

She blinked and it took her several seconds to remember that this was all an act, that it was all for the benefit of the Fulcrum agents currently listening in on their conversation.

"Can't an old friend say hi?"

"We're not friends," Chuck said. "You're a traitor and a criminal."

Sarah rolled her eyes dramatically and nodded her head at the bartender when he set her drink down. She took a measured sip and said, "And if you really believed that, you'd have activated your panic button by now."

Chuck just looked at her, face unreadable. "How do you know I haven't?"

Her eyes crinkled with mirth and she watched as the corners of Chuck's mouth twitched upwards for a second before leveling back out into a flat line. "Because if you had, I doubt we'd be talking now."

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and took a drink from his beer. "What do you want?"

Chuck was being far too maudlin for their little show and she was starting to get a little worried. What the hell was wrong with him? She frowned and grabbed a napkin, pulling a pen out of her purse. She wrote down on the napkin: _Smile. You're supposed to be trying to have sex with me._ She paused, thought about it, and then added: _You look good._ She slid the napkin over to rest in front of him. Hopefully, people would simply think she was writing down her phone number.

Chuck read the napkin and a genuine smile exploded onto his face. He looked so much better that way. His hand landed on hers and plucked the pen from her grasp. He flipped the napkin over and wrote. When she read what he'd said—_You're_ _beautiful. Brunette?_—she couldn't help the answering smile that adorned her face.

She smirked and picked up another napkin: _I sure as hell wasn't going to be a redhead._ When Chuck read what she wrote, he tossed his head back and let out a full-body laugh. Thank God. Things were now back on track. "We should talk."

Brown eyes locked onto hers and she shivered slightly. "About what?"

"I have a proposition for you," she said, her hand on his arm.

He smiled at her and she smiled back and thoughts of the mission faded away.

# # # # #

Sarah slammed the magazine into the Beretta 950 and placed it in her purse. She had picked up the gun earlier, along with the rest of her mission loadout, from Casey's dead drop. She would be running two sets of gear for the operation, one Fulcrum and the other Team Bartowski, and she needed to be prepared.

She briefly hesitated in adding condoms to her purse, but shrugged. It never hurt to be prepared. She knew nothing was going to happen between her and Chuck, but, well, there was a part of her that was too big to ignore that desperately wanted their whole date to be real. Besides, Sarah Walker was always thorough. The condoms would only enhance her cover.

Nothing was going to happen.

So what if she hadn't seen him in a week and every night since leaving him she'd had a series of wildly inappropriate dreams? So what if just the thought of him made her skin hum and her heart beat just a little bit faster? So what if the faster this mission ended, the faster she could go about developing something meaningful (a thought that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure) and worthwhile with him? None of that mattered, right? None of it mattered because nothing was going to happen.

And if she kept telling herself that, she'd eventually calm the riotous nerves in her stomach that wouldn't shut up.

The last item she added to her purse was Bryce's Saint Christopher medal. He had made her promise that she would give it to Chuck as soon as she was able. It was important, he had said, and he wanted Chuck to have it. She'd balked at first, afraid that somehow those watching Bryce's cell would see him slip her the medal, and the whole mission would be blown for nothing more than sentimentality, but he'd insisted. And after what he'd gone through, and was still enduring, she figured she probably couldn't say no (not that he'd given her much opportunity to say no even if she'd wanted to).

She spared a brief thought for Bryce and hoped that he could continue to hold out, before she re-focused on the task at hand. She walked back into her bathroom naked and tried to look at herself in the vanity mirror. It was fogged up and her image was patchwork at best. She swiped her hand across it and watched herself appear.

She shook her head and sighed, leaning her head on the still foggy mirror. She'd taken a shower before getting ready and her bathroom was comfortably warm and still misted with a light blanket of steam.

Nothing was going to happen and she could do this.

She clenched her jaw and stood up straight. She tried to ignore the depressing sight of her still too thin body (seriously, how was Chuck even attracted to her?), tried to ignore the bruises along her chest, tried to ignore all the obvious imperfections, and simply concentrate on what she could control.

Gathering her hair into a tight bun, she grabbed the wig of short, dark hair and went about applying it. Once it was just right, she began her makeup. The actions were so familiar and practiced that they calmed her. Her stomach stopped doing barrel rolls, her thoughts temporarily drifted away from Chuck, and she was able to concentrate on not getting herself, or Chuck, killed.

Once her makeup was done, it took her about 30 seconds to decide whether or not she was going to wear anything under her dress. Again, wishful thinking snuck up on her and she went with the obvious, but entirely stupid, choice.

Nothing was going to happen.

# # # # #

"We need to talk."

She had learned long ago that those were never words you wanted to hear in the intelligence business. It usually meant somebody was about to die.

Sarah slowed down her pace and allowed the man that had quickly become her direct superior to match her stride. "What about?"

"Follow me to my office?" It was not much of a question, but she nodded in assent anyway.

She'd been at the Fulcrum base for five days now and she was nearly bouncing off the walls. She couldn't take it much longer. The people, the hypocrisy, the way they looked at her, it had never really bothered her before meeting Chuck, but now, she could hardly stand it. It wasn't because her eyes had been opened to Fulcrum's less than righteous outlook on things (she'd always been aware of that) or that she had suddenly sprouted a previously untapped moral code. No, it was because she sincerely wanted to shoot them all and get back to Chuck and her new life. These people were keeping her from that and they were being smug, overbearing, self-righteous assholes while doing it.

It was a wonder she had ever been able to work for them in the past.

They stepped into Vincent's office—it took her three days before she finally learned the bald man's name—and he shut the door with a resounding thud. He motioned for her to take a seat and she sat down in a rather utilitarian office chair.

The office suited the man's personality: Spartan decorations, neutral colors, very modern furniture, and continuously kept at a cool temperature. Vincent was probably the most professional and competent Fulcrum operative she'd ever worked with, deadly and highly intelligent, but ultimately, a drier, more uninteresting man she had never met.

Once they were both situated, Vincent began speaking. "My superiors have instructed me to relay a message to you."

Sarah slumped slightly in her chair. Vincent was not only her boss, but he had become her de facto liaison between the Elders and herself. It was more than a little depressing that she hadn't had a chance to interact with them yet. She had hoped that if she could re-establish the rapport and relationship she used to have, then this whole stupid endeavor could end even faster. Instead, she hadn't even been able to speak with them directly. They were being unusually cautious. Not even the two members of the senior leadership that she'd had prior sexual relationships with were willing to give her even five minutes of one-on-one time. She had no idea where they were or what they were doing.

She couldn't help but feel that the entire operation was well on its way to being a failure. Bryce was down in the building's basement being interrogated, she hadn't seen Chuck in almost a week, her patience was wearing thin, and she'd yet to gather any truly actionable intelligence. What a waste.

"And what do they want?" She'd mellowed a bit in her interaction with the other Fulcrum personnel; a little less caustic scorn and a little more indifference now peppered her responses. She'd noticed a marked disinterest in her by Vincent since she stopped being so belligerent. Either he was no longer suspicious of her or he didn't consider her much of a threat. Both options pissed her off and pleased her in equal measure.

"They wanted me to inform you that they have been very impressed with the amount of verifiable intelligence you've provided over the last few days. You've helped us uncover several moles as well as evade multiple potential attacks. They're very pleased."

Sarah nearly rolled her eyes. It had taken some fancy dancing to dodge all the potential pitfalls Vincent had thrown up as she related to him the information she'd managed to "learn" during her captivity. Once she told him how she had acquired the information—Emma Frost was infamous for the thoroughness of her interrogations—he'd stopped questioning every morsel of information she doled out. Of course, it hadn't hurt that she'd told them that she fucked Bryce and he'd told her all sorts of juicy details about the CIA's inroads into Fulcrum before she captured him.

Vincent was still talking. "If tomorrow's mission with Carmichael is a success, they will give serious thought to not only giving you your old job back, but also giving you a new position within the senior leadership." Vincent sounded like a man reading the phone book, so dry was his tone.

It wasn't hard to act surprised at Vincent's words, mainly because she genuinely was. She had never expected the Elders to even consider giving her old job back, let alone promoting her. Not after they had shut her out since she had re-entered the fold. It was suspicious, but also, she could admit, somewhat gratifying as well. It was nice to know that she was not wholly unappreciated, even if it was murderous thugs that were doing the appreciation.

"I am," she paused so she could swallow, "a little surprised."

"I had a feeling that you might feel that way."

"After the last week of being shut out, I thought the best I could hope for was being removed from probation." She crossed her legs and leaned back into her chair. "Maybe a protection detail for a minor asset in some place tropical." She flashed a smile then.

Vincent actually smirked. "Your skills and experience would be wasted on an assignment like that. It'd be more beneficial to the organization to simply kill you, in order to prevent you from becoming disillusioned and dissatisfied with an assignment unbefitting an agent of your caliber." She had long since learned that Vincent said things like that in the hopes of garnering a reaction from her. "The last thing we want is for you to turn into a true double agent, after all."

Sarah shrugged her shoulders and picked a piece of lint off her sweater. "So it's either promote me or kill me?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Tough crowd."

Vincent chuckled lightly and he opened a locked desk drawer. "Let it never be said that Fulcrum is a place for the faint of heart." He reached inside the drawer and pulled out a flash drive. "Something you know rather well, I'm sure."

"On the job training can be a bitch, but it sure is effective."

Vincent nodded and then slid the flash drive across the desk. "Here is everything we have on Carmichael. I'm sure you've already formed your own impressions of the man due to your prior contact, but I figured it couldn't hurt to get a second opinion."

She picked up the flash drive and peered at it dubiously. It was somewhat ironic to think that Fulcrum might have just provided her the means to learn more about Chuck than he himself had ever shared with her. "To be perfectly honest with you, in my experience, Fulcrum analysts don't know shit."

The other man barked out a laugh for a solid three seconds and then abruptly cut off, like a switch had been flipped and all the sound in the room died. It was downright eerie. "I'm afraid I share your opinion. Still, it's better than nothing."

She slipped the flash drive into the pocket of her jeans, where it clinked against the medal Bryce had palmed her earlier that morning.

"Good luck, Walker." Vincent stood up. "Remember, either Carmichael is worth exploiting or he's not, and he'll need to be dealt with."

She grinned then and stood up to leave. "Not a problem. I almost hope he doesn't know anything. After what he put me through, I'd like the opportunity to return the favor."

She wanted to torture Chuck all right, preferably until he was right on the edge, begging her to let him release, and when that happened, well, she'd torture him even more. She owed him that after everything he'd put her through. Not that the both of them wouldn't enjoy every minute. She really couldn't wait until she could finally get Chuck in bed.

Of course, her ideas about torture were probably not in sync with what Vincent was currently envisioning. Assuming, of course, that the man had anything like an imagination to begin with, which was a dubious prospect at best.

"Then I expect to hear good news from you in two days, Walker."

# # # # #

The first thing she noticed was the smell. It hit her like a slap to the face. The air was fetid and laced with countless onerous odors: blood, sweat, urine, and mold. All of them swirled together to turn the air inside Larkin's cell into an almost living organism. It seeped into her clothes, her nose, and stuck to her tongue like some kind of glue, refusing to be dislodged. It was disgusting and unfortunately, also not the worst smelling interrogation room she'd ever been in.

The second thing she noticed was Larkin's body in the corner of the cell. He was mostly naked, clothed only in the tattered pair of jeans he'd been in on the day he was captured. With practiced detachment, she surveyed the damage: there were numerous lacerations along his side and back, purpling on his chest and stomach (signs of obvious broken ribs), his feet were a bloodied mess, and from what she could see of his face, she doubted he'd continue to be quite so pretty in the future.

She was sure it made her a bad person, and it was something she'd never admit, but she couldn't help but be satisfied at the sight. After everything that Larkin and Casey had put her through during her captivity, the strongest emotion she could dredge up for the CIA agent was mild pity. In her opinion, this was simply karmic justice.

She stepped completely into the room and nodded to the guard, who shut the door behind her. It had taken five days of badgering and insisting, but she had finally convinced Vincent to let her see Larkin. She'd brought him in, she had argued, and she deserved to see how her prisoner was doing, especially seeing as how his continued existence was about the only thing keeping her alive at the moment. At least until she completed her test tomorrow with Carmichael.

And if she were honest with herself, those really were her motivations. She had no desire to see Larkin dead. Oh sure, she got satisfaction out of seeing him tortured, felt a sense of vindication that she hadn't felt in a long time, but she didn't want him dead (she saved that kind of vitriol and wishful thinking for Carina). At the same time, her concern for him really only extended as far as making sure he stayed alive in order to ensure her and Chuck's own survival.

To that end, she'd do what was necessary to make sure he lived.

She carefully walked over to his huddled form and squatted. She pitched her voice low, but not so low as to avoid the listening devices in the room. She didn't want to make them suspicious. "Are you awake?"

His voice sounded like his throat had been mired in sand when he spoke. "Yes."

"Good." She reached out and grabbed his sweaty shoulder. His skin was warm to the touch and she concluded he must have a fever. "Listen to me." His head rolled to the side, like a puppet's with no strings. "Larkin, pay attention," she barked.

He finally turned to face her, dried blood marring his formerly handsome features. His normally ice blue eyes were red and slightly milky. "What the hell do you want, you bitch?"

She wanted to roll her eyes and criticize him for going a little too over the top, but instead, she just slapped him hard. "I told you to listen, not back talk, so you shut the fuck up." She almost giggled at her own overdramatic response. Okay, so maybe Larkin was onto something. Acting could be fun. "I just want you to listen, understand?"

Larkin brought a hand up to rub his jaw and nodded sullenly. He didn't say a word.

She smiled sweetly at him and said, "That's a good boy. Now I need you to do us both a favor and tell Fulcrum everything you know. I need you to tell them what you told me about the CIA's operations on the West Coast, how and what you need to generate an Intersect flash, and most importantly, I need you to cooperate with us fully."

"Go to hell, whore."

She frowned at that. She didn't care for that name, not from somebody she knew. Before she realized what she was doing, she had grabbed onto one of Larkin's fingers and bent it back sharply. "Do not ever disrespect me like that again, do you understand me?"

Larkin just spat at her, intentionally missing. At least he had damn well better have intentionally missed. "Why should I do anything you say?" he said through gritted teeth. "I'm not going to betray my country."

Sarah let his finger go and wiped her hand distastefully against her jeans. She shrugged and stood up. "Everybody talks eventually, Larkin. Might as well do it now and save yourself some unnecessary pain."

"You never talked."

"That's because I'm obviously better than you."

"Bitch."

She kicked him hard in the stomach and he groaned, rolling to face her. It was an odd move, turning to face his attacker instead of away, and she discovered why he'd done it a second later.

With surprising energy, he launched himself at her legs, catching her completely off guard. She fell to the ground, hard. Larkin leapt on top of her, pinning her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed, trying not to be too loud, but barely containing her sudden rage.

Something cold and metallic was forced into her hand. His whole body reeking of his own filth, Larkin stuffed his face in between her shoulder and ear. "Give this to Chuck. Do it as soon as you can."

Completely confused, she could only ask, "What?"

"Please," he said, his voice obviously laced with desperation. "Promise me you'll give it to him. Right away, Sarah. _Please_."

"I promise," she whispered, still mostly at a loss as to what was happening, and willing to say whatever was necessary to get him off of her.

The door behind them was wrenched open and two guards rushed into the room. They yanked Larkin off of her and tossed him into a corner, where he rolled into a ball as they proceeded to kick and hit him their batons.

Sarah climbed to her feet and very carefully, slipped what felt like a necklace into her pocket.

She stared at Larkin getting the crap kicked out of him and briefly, very briefly, contemplated rushing to his assistance. But, she forced herself to remember, he deserved what he got. Even if he had just risked his life to give her something he wanted his best friend to have. She didn't really understand what it was like to have friends, but she suspected if she did, she might have done the same thing if she thought she was going to die. She couldn't really blame him for tackling her. It was the only way to make the handoff without anybody suspecting anything.

Still, she really wished he could have done it without potentially ruining one of her favorite sweaters.

She left the room, blocking out the heavy thuds of booted feet impacting with skin, and hurried to the bathroom, one of the few places in the building where she was relatively certain there was no video surveillance. She needed to know what Larkin had given her. She only hoped it was worth what he was going through.

* * *

I bet you think the Charah sexy times are over and done with, don't you? To that, I say, Pfffft! I'm the dude who writes _Chuck and Sarah vs. Banality_, do you really think that's all I'm going to do? Please. So in a bit of shameless promotion meant to entice you to keep reading, if you want to find out what happens after Sarah's dress comes off, read the next chapter!

**Next chapter**: _Considering how often the chapter titles have been changing lately, I have no freaking clue_ - However, you can expect in the next chapter, whatever it's called, that Charah will continue and get this, we finally learn the history behind the Chuck and Bryce friendship in this fic and what exactly led to Chuck becoming involved in the spy life in the first place. So basically, I'm just going to C&P huge portions of **I Am Not Amused's** _Simple Twist of Fate_. Thanks for doing the work for me, dude!


	25. Midnight Organ Fight

**Author's Note**: Holy crap! I'm updating within a month! Wow. Yeah, I'm as surprised as you. You can thank this update on the fact that this chapter contains mostly fluff of some kind and is purely Chuck and Sarah. I initially intended to include some stuff about Chuck and Bryce in the chapter, but as I was writing things, Chuck and Sarah just didn't want to leave each other alone. So if you're looking for something a little more meaty to go with your cupcake, well, I'm sorry. This will probably be the last pure Chuck/Sarah interaction for several chapters, so get your fill now, folks.

Thanks go out to the multi-talented and commanding **Frea O'Scanlin**. She did a good beta, but also teehee'd like a 12-year-old as she did it. I'm still not sure if that's a positive endorsement of the chapter or not. I'll let you readers be the judge.

**Warning**: This chapter should be considered a hard T. There's nothing quite overt, but it does get a little dicey about midway through. So if that bothers you, skim.

* * *

"Love makes you do the wacky." - _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, Willow

* * *

Sarah Walker, Chuck was discovering, was a very passionate woman.

She was far more passionate than he had initially given her credit for, and certainly far more passionate than anybody else believed.

When he had first flashed on her file, so many months ago, there'd been a summary of her sexual proclivities; or at least, a write up of them, in sometimes startling detail. Why somebody would take the time to detail somebody else's sex life, even somebody as attractive as Sarah Walker, Chuck didn't know, and frankly, he was a little disturbed by it all. Still, there was a part of him that couldn't help being a little intrigued.

Sarah Walker was easily the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was smart, strong, scary, and incredibly sexy. And he was still a man. He couldn't help but be curious. He had never delved deep into that part of her background. It just hadn't seemed right to him. But he'd read enough.

She was well-known for using sex as a manipulative tool. She was also well-known for employing it as a tool rather liberally. Somebody had even done a psychological work-up on her that concluded that her rather experienced and extensive sexual repertoire had been directly derived from deep-seated issues of non-existent self-worth, parental abandonment, and psychological trauma she'd suffered during a mission in Munich her first year off of the Farm.

He only knew the barest hint of details about that mission, but he knew that whatever had happened to her, it had changed her permanently. She had joined Fulcrum only three months later.

All of which, he realized somewhat obliquely, had little to do with the way Sarah was currently rubbing against him.

Well, okay, perhaps it did have _something_ to do with the way she was rubbing against him, but honestly, he couldn't really think that well at the moment, so he couldn't be sure.

All he knew was that the passion Sarah was currently displaying was a very welcome surprise. It was nothing like the mechanical movements of somebody performing a part. There didn't appear to be any attempt to manipulate him through her actions. She wasn't acting like somebody who used sex as a tool; she was acting like somebody who just wanted to have sex for the simple pleasure of having it.

He didn't have a problem with that.

Sarah's back arched like a cat's and her breasts moved tantalizingly close to his face. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to look. He knew where he wanted to look, but at the same time, he didn't want Sarah to think he only viewed her as an object. Too many men had done that to her in her life. The last thing he wanted to do was become one of them. But he couldn't help himself. She was just too beautiful.

Of course, from the way she was currently grinding against his crotch, he figured she probably wouldn't mind too much if he did stare.

So he did.

Alright, he didn't exactly stare so much as admire. But the end result was the same. Sarah noticed and stilled her movements. He panicked—which a part of him knew was completely stupid, seeing how Sarah was nearly naked and writhing atop of him, so they were probably past most lines of propriety by this point—until she locked eyes with him and smiled. He relaxed and forced himself to start acting like somebody who actually knew what they were doing. Just because he hadn't really been with a woman since Carina didn't mean he had to act like a virgin with a girl in the back of his father's station wagon.

And then Sarah preened, obviously enjoying the attention. His grip on her hips involuntarily tightened and she let out a quick exhalation of air.

He didn't know what came over him, but before he even realized what had happened, he'd crushed her to his chest and rolled them until he was hovering above her. She stared up with wide eyes, her warm breath puffing against his chin, and he felt something rumbling deep inside his chest.

He didn't move, he didn't do anything except stare into her ridiculously blue eyes. As much as the rest of Sarah fascinated him and enticed him, it had always been her eyes that clouded his judgment and made him question his sanity. There was something indecipherable in her eyes, some kind of emotion that he couldn't quite place, and it forever threw him off. He didn't know how to respond or what he should do.

"Chuck?" Sarah whispered. "Are you okay?"

Chuck jerked in surprise at her voice, and he must have done something unintentionally right, as Sarah's eyes fluttered closed and she gasped. He couldn't help the swell of affection that suffused him then, and he pushed his uncertain thoughts to the back of his head.

This was not the time for worrying about stuff like that. Chuck just nodded his head and leaned down to kiss Sarah gently.

She relaxed into the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck and holding him in place. She had yet to open her eyes, which Chuck was grateful for. She ran a hand through his hair and he deepened his kiss.

He felt her sigh more than heard it, and her leg started to slide up and down the back of his, before moving to wrap around his thighs. She squeezed, pulling him closer to her, and they both gasped this time.

Sarah's eyes popped open and he was struck by the look of pure desire in their too-blue depths. It made him blink and swallow, suddenly a little overwhelmed by everything. No one had ever looked at him that way before and it was intimidating and intense and frightening and oh, God, that felt so good.

They moved as one as Sarah rocked her pelvis against his.

His breath caught in his throat. He shut his eyes and just enjoyed the sensation of Sarah moving against him.

Her hands were on his belt now, and he suddenly felt incredibly warm, like he'd been tossed into a sauna wearing all his clothes. He felt stifled, and Sarah's shaking, hurried hands pulled at his belt far too slowly for his liking.

Chuck grabbed her hands and stilled them. He saw a flash of panic in Sarah's eyes, so he quickly kissed her to make the look go away. He wasn't going anywhere; he just needed to help things along.

After his kiss, she relaxed and looked up at him, her eyes hooded. He backed up until he could stand on the floor. He pulled his shirt loose and unbuttoned it quickly, tossing it to the ground. Sarah surprised him by scooting forward, and wrapped her legs around his thighs, trapping him between her legs and the foot of the bed. When Sarah grabbed his belt now, her hands were steadier. The belt vanished in seconds.

Warm, moist lips kissed his abs then and he shivered slightly. He sucked in a breath as Sarah's curious, questing mouth moved progressively lower. When lips met cloth, she nipped the sensitive skin of his belly and he yelped. She grinned up at him, he grinned back; the smile soon disappeared off his face when she undid the button of his slacks and pulled down the zipper.

When his pants pooled at his feet, he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

He moved his hands into her hair and pulled her wig free. She looked at him with questioning eyes and he undid the bun. He feathered her hair out until it was arrayed around her. He cupped her face and kissed her. "I want to be with Sarah, not Rebecca."

The smile she gave him then was probably the biggest, most genuine smile he'd ever seen. It made him lose focus for a moment. She really was beautiful when she smiled.

She pushed his boxers down eagerly, and soon he was naked and she was naked, and he still felt like he was going to be consumed by the sun.

They stood there, silent, just looking at the other, for what seemed like the longest seconds of Chuck's life. And then Sarah smiled shyly up at him, and whatever last nervousness left him. He gently pushed Sarah flat on the bed, lied down carefully, cradled in her hips, and kissed her.

# # # # #

The phone ringing on the little nightstand jolted Chuck from his daze. He was breathing heavily, limbs limp and barely functional, and sweat glistened over nearly every inch of exposed skin.

Sarah breathed equally hard beside him. She would let out breathy moans whenever she shifted, and he almost smirked at the sound.

"Ignore it," Sarah said between pants. She rolled onto her side awkwardly, and threw an arm around his middle. Her head lolled onto his chest and she sighed in contentment. "Ignore it," she repeated, sleepily.

Chuck recognized the ringtone. "Can't, it's Casey," he said, his throat hoarse.

Sarah made a very disgruntled sound into his chest and he shivered as the puff of air that accompanied it tickled his skin. He smiled and ran a hand down her back, causing her to move even closer to him. He could have sworn she even started purring.

Putting the phone against his ear, he said, "Hello?"

"What the fuck are you two doing?"

Chuck winced and immediately pulled his iPhone away from his ear. He waited several seconds, long enough for Casey's tirade to fade, before putting it back. "What's going on?"

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Uh, no?" Chuck winced again, expecting another explosion.

Casey didn't disappoint. "It's been four damn hours! You were supposed to leave the room three hours ago!"

"Oops." Oh crap. They'd been…doing stuff for four hours? Damn it! No wonder Casey sounded pissed. "I guess we lost track of time."

Casey grunted in exasperation, with an eye roll clearly implied. "I bet you did." He paused, sounding far calmer now that he'd got his yelling out. "You're lucky Walker is so loud or else Lynch and Smith would have broken into your room hours ago to check and see if you were still alive."

Chuck winced, a blush covering his whole body. Agents Lynch and Smith were two of his CIA shadows for this mission. They were ostensibly bodyguards; they took their job seriously, which was a bit ironic considering that their real purpose was to make things look good for Fulcrum, even if they didn't know that. He could only imagine that they were chomping at the bit to check on him. And if they were antsy, then that could only mean one thing.

"And, uh, how is Carina taking things?"

He felt Sarah tense automatically, then lift her head to give him a very obvious roll of her eyes. By now, he was well aware how both women viewed the other.

Casey actually chuckled, but then Chuck knew that the other man had always gotten a sick sense of enjoyment out of his misfortune. "Oh she ain't happy, believe me. Why do you think I'm calling? It's bad enough listening to Walker's wailing through the walls, you think I wanted to risk permanent brain damage hearing it through the phone as well?"

"Ha-ha-ha, Casey." He sighed and knew it was time for Sarah and him to re-focus on the mission. "We'll be out in 30 minutes."

Casey just grunted and hung up.

"Nooooo," Sarah groaned. "I don't wanna get up."

She was being far too cute, which made it even more difficult to start trying to ply her away from his body. "Come on, Sarah, we have to get going."

Arms tightened around him, and a leg slid between his, locking him firmly in place. "No, don't wanna."

"But, Sarah, the mission." He floundered, trying to concentrate on the important matter at hand and not the way Sarah's hand was sliding down his chest.

She looked up at him, her hair tousled and her eyes incredibly big. "I don't care about the stupid mission." An impish look flooded her eyes and she smirked. "Besides, I'm not sure I could move even if I wanted to." Her hand continued its downward journey past his waist and he shut his eyes. "Mmmm, I think you broke me."

"You're just saying that so I won't leave."

"Maybe," she said with a grin. Her hand started to tease him. "Is it working?"

"Maybe," he said back, but his word lacked all the confidence hers had. He was suddenly having trouble concentrating.

"Only maybe?" Sarah arched an eyebrow. "Well, I can't have that." She began slithering down his body, her head disappearing under the covers.

"Okay," Chuck said, the subject already forgotten.

# # # # #

The phone rang again but neither of them paid much attention to it. Chuck's mouth was too busy to talk and Sarah seemed too incoherent to pick up the phone. Eventually it stopped, and Chuck continued on undeterred.

Minutes later, it rang again, and with a growl, this time, Sarah answered. Chuck tried to stop her, but her other hand was buried in his hair and her thighs were rather securely keeping him in place, so he mentally shrugged and resumed what he was doing.

"What the fuck do you want?"

Chuck could barely hear her angrily bark into the phone over the pounding in his ears and the breathy moans she was letting out between words.

"He's busy."

Chuck figured the best way to salvage this situation was to resume control. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that until he was finished. He redoubled his efforts.

Sarah whimpered and Chuck smiled.

"No, you can't talk to him." Sarah groaned and her body tensed even more. "Why not? I told you, he's busy!"

Chuck added a finger and Sarah started to shudder.

"Oh God…" Her voice trailed off into a high-pitched whimper before settling into a low purr. "Oh Chuck…" Her thighs relaxed then and Chuck could finally move his head freely. "Making me orgasm, what the fuck do you think he's doing?"

Definitely time to take over. He scrambled up the bed and plucked the phone right out of Sarah's hands. She looked thoroughly sated and relaxed, so she put up no fight when he jumped off the bed and started to pace around the room. He had to get away from her if they ever had any hope of escaping the hotel room.

Carina was letting out a string of profanities, obviously still thinking she was talking to Sarah. Chuck cleared his throat and said, "Carina, it's me."

His best friend immediately cut off her tirade. "Oh." There was a pause and he knew she was probably reining in her temper. "Finally decided to stop thinking with your dick, huh?"

The scorn and contempt in Carina's voice made him shut his eyes and sigh loudly. He knew that he deserved that. "Carina, look, I'm sorry, okay? I don't know—"

"You know you just went where like every man has gone before, right?"

"Carina—"

"I mean, Jesus, who knows how many diseases she probably has. We're going to have to get you tested now, and get you started on antibiotics, and—"

It was his turn to interrupt her. He didn't mind when she was being derisive toward him, but talking about Sarah like that was out of line. "Carina, stop!"

She stopped talking with a grumble, continuing to mutter invectives about Sarah under her breath.

He rolled his eyes. "Are you finished yet?"

"For now."

"Good." He watched Sarah stretch languidly on the bed and momentarily lost his train of thought. He had to shut his eyes to concentrate. "We'll be out in 30 minutes. I mean it this time. We just have to shower."

"Yeah, like that'll speed things up."

"Separately," he added in exasperation. Sarah pouted at that, but if they didn't shower separately, they'd probably never leave the room.

"30 minutes, Chuck. I swear if you're not downstairs in 30 minutes, I'm going to have Casey kick down the damn door and I'll drag you right off your skanky whore myself."

And then she hung up before he could even think of a reply.

"What crawled up her ass and died?"

He frowned at Sarah and placed his phone back on the nightstand. "We were supposed to have left 45 minutes ago."

"So? You'd think it's the end of the world or something." Sarah leaned on her elbow, utterly unconcerned about her nudity. She flicked some hair out of her face. "Christ, it's not like I haven't spent hours in a hotel room with a mark before. Fulcrum's not going to think anything's wrong."

Chuck froze. "Is that what you think, that I'm a mark?"

Sarah's eyes widened and she bolted upright. "No!" She shook her head repeatedly. "No! Never. I would never…I mean, no, of course not. You are so much more than that to me. I was just saying—I just mean—I don't know," she ended rather pathetically.

Chuck didn't know what to say. He wanted to believe her, but at the same time, he remembered her file. Treating him like a mark, playing him, faking everything to lull him into a false sense of security, allowing her to manipulate him, all of it fit her MO perfectly. He closed his eyes and took a breath.

"Chuck, you believe me, right?"

He gathered up all those negative thoughts, every single one that said that what he and Sarah had wasn't remotely real, that it was all an act, that he wasn't different, and he tried to lock them away. He had to trust that Sarah was being honest with him. It was only fair. He had done things since the first day they met to manipulate things in his favor. He had lied to her at times, hid the truth from her, and used her own feelings against her to make her do what he wanted. Sure, it had all been done for her benefit, he had to believe that, but that didn't make it any better. He couldn't very well get upset with Sarah for doing the same thing, could he?

But it's not the same, he argued with himself. What just happened, that was real.

And he never tried to take advantage of her.

Anytime they touched, kissed; it all meant something to him.

Did it mean anything to her? Was she even capable of developing meaningful connections and feelings? She was broken, he knew, maybe in some ways irrevocably. Could they even have a real relationship someday? Would she ever be able to care for him as much as he knew he could someday care for her?

He shook his head. No. Stop. Stop doubting her, he ordered himself. The way she had kissed him, looked at him, there had been something there. That indefinable look he had seen in her eyes, he was sure now that was how she really felt: a swirling mass of confusion, but real emotion nonetheless.

"Chuck, please tell me you believe me." He could hear her voice waver, the slightly high pitched cadence that let him know she was on the verge of panic. "Come on, Chuck, you know I would never do that to you. You have to believe me."

He opened his eyes and saw her standing on her knees, her beautiful eyes beseeching him to trust her. She looked like she wanted to rush over and wrap him in her arms but was too afraid how he might react if she did.

The smart thing would be to take a step back. Things were even more dangerous now than they should be. In many ways, sleeping with Sarah had been a mistake. It didn't feel like a mistake and he would never say that out loud, certainly not to her, but in the cold fringes of his brain where only logic resided, he had just horribly complicated their dynamic at a time when complications were likely to lead to somebody getting dead.

But he couldn't step back. The fear and desperation in Sarah's eyes made it impossible to even seriously contemplate putting some distance between them. Besides, he didn't really want to.

So he took two big steps and pulled Sarah into his arms. Her arms wrapped so tightly around him he could hardly breathe. He rubbed her back slowly and she moved even closer. "I believe you."

She relaxed at his words and her grip loosened. She pulled her face away from his chest to look up at him. "Thank you. I know I'm horrible at this—at this kind of stuff, and I'm going to screw up a lot, but please, Chuck," and she was looking at him with those pleading eyes of hers again, "you have to believe that I will never think of you like a mark. You're Chuck."

Chuck wasn't exactly sure what to take from that, but he nodded his head smiled gently. He kissed Sarah's forehead and grabbed her hand. "Come on, we should get ready."

Those wide eyes quickly turned mischievous. "I thought we had to shower separately?"

"I can control myself if you can," Chuck said.

Sarah stopped following him. "Oh." Her hand dropped from his and when he turned to look at her, she grinned. "What if I _can't_ control myself, huh?"

Chuck groaned and stared at Sarah in disbelief. "Are you serious? How are you not completely exhausted?"

Sarah scoffed, still grinning. "Please, I got another hour or two in me easy." She patted him on the stomach and sauntered past him into the bathroom..

Chuck whimpered in fear, and admittedly, arousal. She was going to kill him. He was positive of that. Not Fulcrum, but Sarah Walker would be responsible for his death.

She popped her head out of the bathroom and looked at him expectantly. "Well, come on, I thought you wanted to save time?"

Damn, well, who was he to say no to efficiency?

# # # # #

Chuck was still drying his hair with a towel when Sarah mercifully finally started to get dressed. He had never met a more distracting woman in his life.

Of course, for her, getting dressed took all of about 30 seconds as she just had to slip her dress back on. Still, the relief he felt when temptation was no longer quite so tantalizingly close was palpable.

She must have seen him watching her because she smirked in his direction and fluffed her hair a bit before gathering it in a tight bun. "Don't worry, Chuck, tonight's not the only night we'll be doing this."

Chuck gulped and blushed, but he couldn't deny the thrill that shot through his veins at Sarah's words. "It's not?"

"Chuck," Sarah said with a patronizing slowness, "there are six other days in the week. What do you think we'll be doing then?"

The room was silent, except for a slight rustling sound as Sarah re-applied her wig. He tried to process what Sarah had just said, but only one thing came to mind: "You're going to kill me."

"Yeah, but what a way to go, huh?" She grinned at him and walked over to pull him down for a quick and dirty kiss that left him breathless and momentarily dazed. "Now come on, we better get out of here before Carina comes tearing down the door."

Sarah picked up her purse and opened it. Her whole body stiffened. "Oh shit," she said.

Instantly on alert, he twisted to face the door. Was somebody trying to break in? He didn't hear anything. Damn, he wished he was armed. He figured Sarah was, but still, it would have made him feel better if he had something to defend himself with. "What's going on?"

Sarah pulled something out of her purse. She looked at him sheepishly and offered him her hand. "Um, I was supposed to give you this as soon as I could and I guess I kinda forgot."

A piece of cool metal landed in his palm. When he saw the St. Christopher medal dangling in the air, reflecting dully the lights of the hotel room, he felt his stomach drop.

Bryce had given Sarah his medal.

That meant Bryce was in trouble.

It meant he didn't have much time.

* * *

**Next chapter**: Is there even any point in me telling you what happens in the next chapter, considering how often I change my mind? Well, currently, the plan is to finally get a look at Chuck and Bryce's past. The operative word there being _currently_. Who knows if that's what will actually happen.


End file.
